Shadow Play
by corvusdraconis
Summary: [HG/SS] AU/AO: In this alternate timeline, Albus Dumbledore uses old research that he and Grindelwald came up with to craft the ultimate weapon to collect power and rid himself of enemies. His first two experiments failed him. His third did not—but what happens when it comes time to pay the piper? Who will rise, and who will fall? Not canon. NOPE! M to be safe. COMPLETE
1. A Meeting in the Dark

**Summary:** [HG/SS] AU/AO: In this alternate timeline, Albus Dumbledore uses old research that he and Grindelwald came up with to craft the ultimate weapon to collect power and rid himself of enemies. His first two experiments failed him. His third did not—but what happens when it comes time to pay the piper? Who will rise, and who will fall?

Not canon-compliant in the slightest. Not even trying.

 **A/N:** Brain working overtime.

 **Beta Love:** The Dragon and the Rose, Dutchgirl01, and the Flyby Commander Shepard

 **Disclaimer:** Not my characters, just playing in JKR's sandbox

* * *

 **Shadow Play**

Chapter One

 _He's got a stick so far up his arse you can see it when he yawns. - Lucifer_

As I stood in the shadows of Dumbledore's office, I watched the elder wizard dismiss his staff as he always did. He always had that twinkle in his eyes and lemondrop breath. All of it was a ruse, as far I was concerned. The man who had saved me from the taunts of my fellow Gryffindors and trained me ever since my first year at Hogwarts and through multiple layered years had never been the most forthcoming man.

He taught me what I needed to know.

He had saved my life from a rampaging troll in my first year.

He'd also given me an offer I couldn't refuse: to never have to worry about being attacked again. I thought it had been about training—and it was—but it was also more.

 ** _I_** became more.

The first year it was shots every week. He said it was to condition my body to the changes. They _did_ make me feel better, if a bit sleepy, but I never questioned it. By the end of the term, he gave me some sort of orangey syrup once a day for about a month. He said it was very special, and it would help me grow into what I needed to be.

I was twelve—sure, I was older than most of my class—but I was still only twelve. I had trusted my elders to know that they knew what it was I needed to be, even if I didn't.

He hadn't lied. He had saved my life, and I had been learning how to protect myself in all sorts of unique ways so that bullies and kidnappers would never have anything on me. _Ever_. But I wasn't exactly Hermione Granger anymore. I wasn't what my parents had given birth to, that is. Hell, I wasn't even a teenager anymore. I'd aged so much the trace had fallen off of me sometime in my fourth year.

Not that anyone knew what I really looked like—I looked like what I believed I should be. No, I looked like what I believed _others_ believed I should be. I had collection of photos taken every few months so I could remember what I looked like when I could have been sixteen. Why? So I could adjust my face and body to match. Otherwise, I'd be a missing student, and there would be a search and drama and—well, Dumbledore didn't want _that_. Hell, I didn't want that.

Another _why_ hung in the air there.

It was because I was a monster. Dumbledore's monster. I was his ace in the hole—and he was the only one that knew. I was his greater good.

 _This is for the greater good, Miss Granger,_ he would say.

To this day, I had no idea what that greater good really was. All I knew was that Dumbledore did, and I owed it to him to see things through. He had saved my life, after all. He could have left me helpless against the next troll or the next horrible thing that wanted to use me as a chew toy.

"Hermione," Albus said my name. Alone, he always used my name instead of Ms Granger or Miss Granger. Perhaps, it was because I was no longer a student, at least in his eyes. Perhaps I had been learning from him for so long that calling me anything but my first name would seem moot at best. I wasn't sure. At least he wasn't scowling at me or calling me "AAHHHHGGRGAAA!" like most of my hits.

Hits. Marks. Targets. Magical assassinations.

It was what I was—a magical assassin. I didn't kill my marks as much as I relieved them of their magic. Relieved sounds odd, as if I plucked keys out of their pocket or swiped an ornate hairpin from their hair. Pissing themselves as their magic leaked out of them was more appropriate—only I drank it up.

Magic is more palatable than urine. Don't ask me _how_ I know.

"You require me?" I replied to Albus, bowing my head in instinctive deference.

"Yes, I need you to take care of a high risk threat," Dumbledore said, gesturing to the bowl of lemon sherbets on his desk.

I took one, sucking on it. I couldn't help myself. He had instilled this rather lemon-prone addiction upon me. They were also the only thing that cancelled out the taste of fear, bile, and soiled pants that clung in the air and my unfortunately heightened senses. Trust me when I tell you trying to keep up appearances in class when all you can taste is piss, fear, and shite on your tongue and the roof of your mouth does not end well. I had often wondered if some of my professors could smell the stench on me when I returned to class before having a proper shower. Albus never said anything, but then—he _knew_ what I had done. Minerva McGonagall had pulled me aside, worried that I'd been pranked once too often by dung bombs and the like. I let her think so. It was easier that way.

Minerva had always shown genuine concern, but it wasn't like I could tell her my life story. Albus demanded secrecy—even to her, and I obeyed. He'd saved my life. I owed him that.

"Name and location?" I asked, my lips pulling back from my elongated teeth. I stepped out of the shadows, unfurling my wings that hung about my shoulders like a traveling cloak. I never bothered to alter my appearance when I met with him. It wasn't like _HE_ didn't know what I was. Well, more as though he wasn't like he didn't know what I really looked like. I was pretty sure he didn't know what I truly was any more than I did, and I looked at myself in the mirror daily.

My long whiskers twitched, silvery strands of sensory tendrils that seemed like asian dragon whiskers more than feline ones. They writhed with a sort of sentience about my inhuman muzzle. One or two caressed my ears, moving them in position without my asking.

Dumbledore said that my "accident" with the Polyjuice my second year had reacted to the magical alteration of my body. For about a week, I looked like Bulstrode's cat, and then—I became something resembling hell-on-earth. I… _evolved_ , or rather, I picked up the ability to shift into anything I was exposed to once. The only problem was, my natural shape wasn't anything remotely human anymore. I'd touched, inadvertently or not, anything from three-headed dogs, hippogriffs, thestrals, and a few bats that I'd had to catch in the girl's bath to stop their incessant hysterical screaming. There were other things too, but I'll confess that I stopped trying to figure it out. Hence the magical photos to remind me what I should look like at whatever age. It's funny, I don't recognise myself when I look in a mirror. Unless I'm the monster. I recognise that.

It's who I am. It's what I really am.

Dumbledore's magical assassin—the thing nightmares are made of.

"His name is Fenrir Greyback," Dumbledore said. "He's hiding out somewhere near Fishguard, Wales, near Pembrokeshire Coast National Park."

"Fenrir," I mouthed, a trickle of lemony saliva escaping my teeth and dripping to the floor. "Is he a wolf?"

"Werewolf," Albus said. "Worst there is. Bites young children and brainwashes them to hate wizards and all humans."

My lips curled back from my teeth. "Glorious." I hadn't heard of Fenrir before, but that was nothing new. I was trained to focus on my studies and not idle gossip. Albus never told me such things until he needed me to know them. I sometimes heard rumours and hearsay spread around the school, but I paid little heed to it. Dumbledore always told me what I needed to know. He'd also decided that I didn't need friends—or whatever it was I had with people other than him. People who only talked to me when they needed something. Like Polyjuice. I should _never_ have made that...

Albus had removed me from the little trio that included me, Harry Potter, and Ronald Weasley after the Polyjuice incident. He said it was too risky, after my transformation into a monster, that I'd forget to wear the right face in such casual, everyday relationships. I was "allowed" to assist them when they asked specifically for my help, but I was not permitted to seek them out on my own.

No casual relationships. Psh.

As if any relationship I had after transforming into… whatever it was I was was anything remotely "casual". Then again, maybe that was for the best. Gods only know what I'd turn into if exposed to Ronald Weasley woefully inadequate hygiene.

"When do you need me to take care of it?" I asked, straight to the point. I hated beating around the bush. Tell me what you want and when you want it by, then don't ask me how I'm going to go about it. That was the agreement. He hadn't trained me to be needy, after all. He'd trained me to get things the fuck done with as little fuss as possible.

 _Language, Hermione. Your parents would be appalled by your profane tongue._

 _They'd be appalled by my appearance too. I can't even remember what age I'm supposed to be._

Silence was my only mental answer. Good.

"Tonight," Albus said grimly. "we cannot afford to have him taking children."

"Taking his magic may not negate his lycanthropy," I replied.

"Then, you know what you must do," Albus answered.

"It shall be done," I answered automatically, moving out onto Dumbledore's balcony, unfurling my wings as my claws moved to scratch an itch where my wing spurs had hooked to each other to keep my wings caped back around my shoulders.

"Do not fail in this, Hermione," Dumbledore warned me, crunching his lemon sherbets between his teeth.

"I have not failed since my first year, Albus," I said, eyes narrowing as I looked back on him. He was, perhaps, the only person I knew that could turn their back on me and not feel unnerved. I think he did so on purpose to show me that he did not fear me like everyone else. He smelled sincere, however. He either didn't fear me in the slightest and I could take that as reassuring, or he he didn't fear me in the slightest, and I could take that as wanton arrogance.

After all these years, I tended to lean towards reassuring. Where would I be without him? A splat on a bathroom wall, victim of a troll's vicious club? I had my magic, and I had Albus. I had my _purpose_. When the war was done, I would worry about how to carve out an existence somewhere where I would have no easily frightened neighbours.

Or any neighbors who didn't have hooves, paws, or the tendency to spontaneously combust—I did have a rather soft spot for phoenixes. I blame Fawkes. He made a very comfortable flaming pillow on cold nights. Would Albus mind terribly if I absconded with his phoenix after the war? Only time would tell.

Albus grunted, waving his hand in the air dismissively. "Let's not make tonight the exception. Here is a photo of your Apparition Point." He held the photograph between his index and middle finger, waving it casually.

I sighed. I didn't need a photograph to Apparate to Wales. I knew at least fifty-two safe spots to arrive looking like a person and just as many looking like—well whatever I looked like. But, Albus liked to tell me where to go— _literally—_ and I obeyed. I snatched the offensive photo with my tail and drew it towards me, plucking it with my talons. I memorised every landmark and nuance of the photo. If this is where Albus wanted me to go, there had to be a good reason. What it was—Merlin and Albus only knew.

I growled, my teeth bared in irritation, putting the photo down next to the privacy book, which promptly devoured it like a wolf with tasty venison steak. "I do not plan to," I said, flinging myself off his balcony and into the thermals, letting my wings snap out and carry me across the lake and the Dark Forest.

 ** _Crack_**.

The instant cold embrace of Apparition grasped me and flung me towards the coast.

* * *

The forest was strangely quiet, and I didn't care for it at _all_. A quiet forest invariably meant danger, and it often made me feel like a zebra trying to take a drink from the only watering hole available during the dry season. It wasn't that I wasn't able to protect myself; it was that things felt… off. It was like knowing the crocodile was there, but you were still unbearably thirsty.

My jaws parted as I tasted the wind in my mouth, sending the more delicate scents to the vomeronasal organ that was so much better at scenting than I ever could as a human. Vomeronasal _what_? I spent a lot of time in the library researching things like that in an attempt to get to know myself. I'm not sure how much I actually learned about myself and how much I simply gave myself a remarkably extended vocabulary. Mum and Dad would have been proud—as long as they didn't know just _why_ I was learning such things.

As I rolled the scents around in my mouth, I detected human with a chaser of "other" that told me I was in the right place. Nothing fully human could taste so wrong on my tongue. I almost tore into one of the nicked lemon sherbets I'd been palming by the handful ever since my assignment from Albus. I didn't have pockets because I didn't have robes. Instead I had an enchanted beaded bag that hung from a belt that stayed with me regardless of form. Albus had taught me how to make an undetectable extension charm, and I'd learned how to sew a belt in Care of Magical Creatures, ironically, because belts were a lot like harness leathers for hippogriffs and Thestrals.

No one had to know that's how I'd learned it. I certainly wasn't telling.

As for it sticking to me regardless of form, I'd learned quite a few useful spells while studying in the restricted section. Dumbledore had given me a free and permanent pass to keep me out of trouble in between our lessons—or _in_ trouble, depending on how you looked at it.

Did you know that you could cause someone to suffer from chronic erectile dysfunction while giving them some pretty strong desires that could never be satisfied? I didn't either. I do now, though. I will admit to having tested that particular hex on Cormac McLaggen, who seemed to think I would make a pretty adornment on his arm earlier this year. No thank you. Ever. I was way too old for him anyway, by at least a decade or more. Thank you ever so much, time-turning. There was also that little thing about my looking like I stepped out of H.P. Lovecraft's world of elder gods—or maybe his worst nightmares. I even had the tentacles to boot because you can't have good Lovecraftian nightmares without those.

What do Lovecraftian beasts have for nightmares?

Normality.

My ears perked as I heard tromping through the woods. It was the sound of "I care not who hears" mixed with familiar footsteps—the sound of those who knew this area and didn't care _who_ knew it. It might have intimidated someone else, but not me. Not anymore.

I had left my vulnerability and fear behind with my first year and my humanity. I flapped my wings once to help me jump onto a high branch, and I peered down into the vegetation like a looming gargoyle on Notre Dame. My shadow stretched out into the forest, seeking for me what I desired to know: was that Fenrir down there, or was it simply his "people."

My shadow was like my feelers. If you've ever seen a raccoon feeling around in a stream for that pesky crayfish, well, that was like my shadow. It was, much like my whiskers, a sentient part of me. They aided me in literally feeling out an area without me having to move a muscle.

There was one tiny detail, though—one teensy little unfortunate side effect.

My shadow scared away other shadows. I couldn't exactly blame the other shadows, really. My shadow was damn scary. If it wasn't mine, I'd have been afraid of it, but it gave absolutely wondrous backrubs. Who knew? There had to be some perks for Dumbledore's monstrous right hand—right? Sentient shadow? Check. Excellent backrubs? Check. Monstrous mate to spend cool evenings with cuddled with by the fire? Fuck. Well, pobody's nerfect.

 _Language, Hermione._

 _Sigh._

I'm not sure when I developed such a potty mouth, truly. Maybe I've drained the magic of too many exceptionally rude Dark Wizards. Magic can be very, very personal, and Dark magic tends to have some rather interesting shared qualities. Their magic, much like their mindset, is tainted and leaning to the side at a very obtuse angle. That's my theory anyway. I just drink in the magic. I let other people wax the poetic and philosophise, usually. Part of me thinks that magic is magic. It's not black and white so much as grey—but there is the monster who drinks in magic, and I'll be the first to tell you that Dark magic tastes different. It's like—the arse end of a camel.

Okay, I'll confess that I have no idea what the arse end of a camel really tastes like, nor do I wish to, but if I were to imagine—

Blech.

Yeah.

 _This_ is why Merlin invented sherbet lemons. Or was that Honeydukes? Close enough. If you prefer, think of the best thing you've ever tasted, and then dump vinegar on it. Sure, maybe you like the taste of vinegar, but I tend to not like the flavour on my chocolate cake, thank you very much.

I stretched out one wing and then the other, my sense of hunger whetted as my shadow brought back news of a good feed. Oh, Dark magic may taste like arse, but the satisfaction of drinking in the magic of my marks—there are truly no words. That was the truth of it. Despise it as I did, I _loved_ the feed. It was like welcoming home magic that belonged to me. It was as if all magic belonged to _me_. Most magic anyway. There were people I ran across I had no interest in or their magic. I had never been sure why that was. Perhaps, it was like how a lion preferred certain prey over another.

"I know you're a spy, Snape," a gravelly voice said. "Did you think I wouldn't smell Dumbledore's stench upon you?"

"Since you were so happy to miss the class, Greyback," a familiar drawl answered. "The Dark Lord has me spying on him. Or did you think I teach miserable wretches because I actually like teaching?"

Snape? Greyback? What was going on? Professor Snape was my Potions professor—technically. Unofficially, I'd learned all my potions credentials, taken my N.E.W.T.s and studied mastery in a few key areas Dumbledore believed I needed via Time-Turning and flooing to Masters Dewey, Cheatum, and Howe. Potions and Healing for their obvious benefits and Transfiguration in the hopes it would help me keep a human face longer—kind of a reverse Animagus. Homimagus?

Despite their horribly naming conventions (they believed it made a perfect Muggle name for a business, and after hearing their real Wizarding names, I realised Dewey, Cheatum, and Howe were the least of their naming problems) they were truly masters of the fields. I could brew Ditney in a Muggle soup can over a barrel fire under a bridge. I could keep my human face—well, whatever one I had at the time—even in my sleep, and I could patch together someone's ribs with a spell while diving under a closing gate. If you need to ask why I would need to do such a thing, well, I can't answer that. You just never know. One day, I would find myself in need of that skill and would say "Thank you, Master Cheatum, for being the oddest and most insightful Healing Master I've ever had." To be fair, he was the _only_ Healing Master I'd ever had—but Dumbledore trusted him to train me and not blow me up, so that had to have meant something, right? He also trusted them with my rather monstrous secret—they obviously found out when I'd go to sleep human and wake up not so much—so either he was weaving them one hell of a cover story on why I ended up that way, or he told them about my condition.

Or they were simply blind. Half the time they called me Hugh, and when they pinned my mastery pins to my collar, they had instead embedded them into my collarbone.

Geniuses, all of them, but not terribly observant outside of their individual fields.

And not one of them compared to having trained under the scruffiest-looking malcontent ever, Alastor Moody. He had taken paranoia to a whole new extreme. He hated how his shadow disappeared around me. He was convinced my shadow was the devil. He drilled me every day, cursing Dumbledore every minute. Then, one day, when I could countercurse while diving under a closing door (What is it with doing things while diving under closing doors? Do chefs have to make a souffle while diving under a closing freezer door?) and literally turn five wizards at a time into plump Orkney voles at once, all the walls came down.

He had taken me drinking, confessing I was the best student he'd ever had, and if he could he'd have drafted me into the Aurors. He'd said I'd survive, unlike "Those other sodding idiots." He called me the daughter that he wished he had, and gave me his mother's opal ring, saying he had no one else to give it to. He wouldn't let me refuse, and I placed it on my ring finger.

 _"Ta'marrow I'll tell that fool Dumbledore you're fit for combat," Alastor had slurred drunkenly. I took it as compliment. Normally the man didn't let his guard down for nobody or no reason. "An' since ahm nae longer yer teacher, I'll tak' ye tae gie some real Scottish scran in ye, afair ye putter awa' intae naethin'. And I'll introduce ye to Amelia Bones. That woman ye can trust wit' yer kilt."_

He'd grown on me, that one. I always known when he started diving into his lilt that he was closer to the truth than when he spoke "proper" English. He'd passed out in his fish and chips, and I had taken him home, tucked him in without his boots, placed his wand by the bed stand, and kissed him tenderly on the forehead. My shadow had even fluffed his pillow for him and pulled the duvet up to keep him from losing all his body heat. See? Shadows _are_ useful!

 _"I look forward to it," I'd whispered, smiling. My shadow placed a kiss on his forehead, and for once, his shadow didn't flee in terror._

The next day, he didn't even know who I was. His mother's ring was solidly fused to my finger and wouldn't leave, but Alastor kicked me out of his house, saying he didn't need no apprentice and he wasn't taking offers. Dumbledore said that Alastor had been through a lot of trauma, and sometimes it manifested with memory loss. Maybe, one day, he would remember it again. That was what Albus told me, anyway.

I had tried not to let the disappointment show. He really had grown on me, the scruffy bastard.

 _Language, Hermione. Must you speak like a boor?_

 _Get back to me when I'm allowed to drink the magic of someone with proper manners._

 _If they are polite and well mannered, you probably aren't going to have them as a mark._

 _Fine, be logical._

I'd have magic for miles, but I'd curse like a sailor. Such is life.

Speaking of cursing, my supposed Potions teacher was looking like he had to pass gas. He held his arms across his chest, pulling his robed closer to his extensive buttonline. His long, almost skeletal fingers ran down his buttons as if taking inventory. His lips curled into a distinctive and familiar sneer.

Damn, I'd thought he was only grumpy when teaching students. No, it seemed Professor Snape was equally grumpy when dealing with people—er, werewolves. Werewolves are people too, except when they try to tear you to shreds during the full moon.

Maybe, it was because Professor Snape was standing next to a known wanted werewolf criminal, or maybe he would rather have been back in his classroom getting paid to be grumpy. It was so hard to tell. A few of my whiskers were petting my ears as I decided what to do. If what Professor Snape had said was true, he was spying on Dumbledore for the "Dark Lord" and that made him enemy number one—even beyond my assigned mark, Fenrir Greyback. Then again, Mr Congeniality was hiding something, and if Fenrir was on the Dark Lord's side—what did that make Snape?

 _Dumbledore really doesn't ask you to overanalyze, Hermione._

 _Why, thank you, brain, but I pay you every day to do your thing by eating._

 _Silence._

Thank Merlin.

"What do you _want_ , Greyback?" Snape asked with an utterly disgusted look on his face.

"I want what every one of you filthy humans want," Fenrir said. "I want what was **_promised_** me!"

"And what was _that_ , exactly?" Snape drawled as Fenrir slammed him hard against a tree. Fenrir was getting all up in Professor Snape's face. I was still on the fence about him. Dumbledore had never sent me on a mission where I had adds I didn't already know about. Adds are possible complications. Witnesses are complications. Extra Death Eaters are complications. Stampeding hippogriffs are complications. Being caught being out after curfew when coming back from a job and scaring the pudding out of some poor prefect who ends up babbling nonsense about cheese and monsters for a week after was _definitely_ a complication.

At least that stopped when I learned how to Disillusion myself. Sheesh.

Albus had taught me that promptly after I'd destroyed the minds of three prefects and the head girl.

At least it was… theoretically repairable with sufficient therapy?

I _still_ scared people with my shadow. They ran in terror when they saw my shadow coming, and the only one who even came close to creating that level of fear was Professor Snape. It was sad, really. My shadow really did give great back massages. It was probably all the tentacles.

Dumbledore told the staff that some unforeseen side effects of an "unfortunate prank" was what had made my shadow rather startling because let's face it, when your shadow is the ONLY shadow left in the room because it's that damn scary, you kind of need a reason, right? A reason that didn't scream "Hi, I'll be your nightmarish Lovecraftian monster for the day" would be a great starting point. Yes? Yes.

What was amusing, at least to me, was that people kept seeing my shadow around the school where I wasn't, so it just made the rumours and stories an even scarier story to be shared at night by candlelight with blankets over your head.

Do try not to set your blankets on fire, kiddies.

My whiskers were poking me to pay attention, and I found myself thinking more about what to do than usual. This was usually a straightforward process. Find mark. Take out mark. Go back to Hogwarts and sleep. I suppose I could send a Patronus to Dumbledore and ask him what was up, but Patronuses were a bit hard to conceal. They glowed. This was a dark forest with a hypersensitive, mean werewolf with some anger management issues stuck really close to a Hogwarts professor that may or may not be evil.

 _Fuck._

 _Language, Hermione._

I slumped on the branch, wings drooping. I sent my shadow to go poke around Fenrir and see what was going on with its heightened senses, and it glided off with an almost audible cheer of happiness at having something to do. There were times I could honestly relate.

I sat up straight, whiskers twitching. As always, my shadow caused other shadows to flee in terror. You couldn't quite see a shadow in the half-gloom of almost-night-but-not-quite. Dusk and dawn were odd times with shadows. Yet, as I watched, there was my shadow, no shadow for Mr Werewolf, and a shadow for Professor Snape.

Now, _that_ was interesting.

What was eve more interesting was that the moment my shadow touched his with a curious poke, Snape's head jerked up and he stared intently into the gloom.

Could he see me?

What a powerful wizard he would be if that proved to be the case.

My shadow rubbed along his shadow like a cat against a leg, and the moment it did so, a thrill of indescribable pleasure rushed down my spine and curled my toes. Judging by how Snape's body shuddered, he had the same reaction. Fenrir seemed to think it was Snape being fearful to his intimidation, and for a werewolf who should be able to smell such things, he was an utter failure at reading pheromones.

" _Incarcerous_!" Fenrir hissed as he snatched Snape's wand by hand.

Rude. You _never_ man-handle some other bloke's wand. That was just terribly rude. You might as well just strip off the pants and fondle some other guys junk, and who wants to imagine that in the middle of an argument?

Dad would have said something involving "What happens in the mancave stays in the mancave." I'm not sure how daddy would handled wand-etiquette, but I'm pretty sure he would not have treated it as casually handling some other bloke's lager. Daddy was great for formal manners. He was a dentist, after all. I'm pretty sure his fellow dentist friends didn't go around fondling his dental instruments. Hell, mum didn't, and she was married to him.

It was getting dark enough that my shadow—well, any shadows—were no longer visible, but Fenris seemed to choose that time to become unnerved.

"You!" Fenris growled. "You're the shadow assassin!"

Snape gave Greyback the look that every first year—hell, every any year—had learned to fear. "If you haven't noticed, Greyback, _nothing_ has a shadow right now." He was right. At that moment the gloom had devoured all of the shadows.

"That's what happened with Avery… he got his magic sucked right out of him!" Fenrir stabbed his wand into Snape's neck. "I'm going to turn you into the Dark Lord, and he will give me his greatest favour for finding the _real_ traitor—if the wolf leaves you alive."

Fenrir began to chant an incantation that caused my ears to tingle. It was a jinx, the anti-Apparition jinx to be precise. No real problem for me, but putting two and two together as to why this would be a very bad thing™ for Professor Snape was pretty easy to formulate.

Full moon. Angry werewolf. Tied to a tree.

The answer did _not_ include ice cream and a cuppa.

Now, Death Eaters and Dark Wizards tended to stick together like flies on shite, and Fenrir's reaction to Snape was not helping me to properly categorise him. True, Fenrir _could_ be wrong, but Professor Snape was a teacher at Hogwarts. Sure, everyone hated the man, but that was because he was just so ridiculously cranky about everything being just so in his class. Okay, he also had a truly ghastly bedside manner, but if my learning from Masters Dewey, Cheatum, and Howe had drilled anything into my head—absolutely anything has the potential to explode. And you should make certain that things only explode on your terms. Doors for example. Exploding potions should only occur when you throw them at someone intentionally. Even that should be avoided to retain precious time and expensive ingredients. Words for life, really.

Yet, as Fenrir ripped open Snape's sleeve and drew his nails across a very distinctive tattoo, I was caught between taking out Fenrir AND Snape or just Fenrir. But to do the latter, I would have to save Snape from becoming a werewolf or a werewolf victim. Albus would most definitely be displeased with me if I allowed one of his teachers to die.

Save him, restrain him, and take him to Albus, maybe?

No, then I'd have to take him with the tree, and I'm pretty sure the man knew silent magic well enough to block a _stupefy._ No man who hated dunderheaded imbeciles as much as he did wouldn't not know _stupefy_ and its counter backwards and forwards. He knew how to silently throw a shield over an exploding cauldron at the drop of a hat. The only thing he couldn't do was throw multiple shields over multiple screw-ups at the same time. I really didn't blame him for that. I knew Neville Longbottom, after all. You just couldn't prepare for him.

My eyes flicked over to to the horizon. The moon wasn't up yet, but hell if it wasn't going to be soon. I was fast running out of time, and I needed to make a decision that wouldn't get me dressed down by Albus or worse.

It wasn't like you could just pull a Potions Master out of your hat. "Oh, sorry, I seemed to have let your professor die due to a werewolf attack. The werewolf is dead, though!" Yeah, no.

Or your Potions Master is now a werewolf—yeah, THAT would go over really well.

"What were you _thinking_ , Hermione?" I could hear Albus' condescending tone as he stared down his wizened nose at me.

I would say I was thinking about a lot of things and none of it was helping much, and then he would read me the riot act for the next hour after forcing me to eat a licorice snap from his "bowl of shame."

I _hated_ those things.

Fine. Save the surly teacher. Better surly than dead.

I didn't want a surly ghost following me around, snarking at me every time I didn't brew something just so. He hated when I tinkered with recipes during class. No one had the skill level to cover for me if I fucked something up. Okay, he might have said that with considerably less profanity and more degradement of my hair and my teeth.

Look who's talking, buddy. You need to make an appointment with my mum and dad, maybe even both consecutively. How much coffee and tea do you drink? Do you bother to brew a cuppa or just suck on the tea bags all day? Gosh.

Mum would be standing there, giddy with excitement to try her new whitening solution on him. She'd always wanted to know if it could help a truly horrible case of yellow teeth. Dentists. I just hug them and tell them I love them. I hope they know that, despite my not being around much. Something about spending months and months away from home at a magical boarding school made for some rather awkward homecomings.

The kitchen timer went off, only it sounded like agonising screams of agony as Fenrir's body jerked and twisted violently with the beginning of his inevitable transformation. I stared, I must admit. There was something strangely fascinating at watching the human body become something decidedly _in_ human. My changes were never painful. Why, then, was becoming a werewolf such a painful experience? If Animagi went through painful transformations, no one would ever want to become one. Was it because the change was against their will? No—Fenrir wanted it. So again, why?

Snapping out of my thoughts, I moved, dropping to the ground silently, using the man's screams to muffle my own movements, setting my shadow to work. It slithered silently across the ground, stretching out from me, its monstrous fingers extending impossibly as it reached out for _him_.

There was a strange snapping sensation, as if I'd just released the string of a bow, and my shadow was suddenly in the place of his shadow, his having long since vacated the premises. That left him vulnerable.

The moment my shadow sidled up to him, Fenrir froze instantly—in mid-transformation—unable to move, unable to speak, unable to continue his transformation. I padded towards him, lazily, knowing he wasn't going anywhere, my claws digging deeply into the earth as I walked. My shadow made me a lazy hunter—sometimes I would purposely hold it back so I could a little traditional playing with my food. Why should it have all the fun?

Fenrir wasn't an option for playing. He was too dangerous, and Professor Snape was tied to a tree nearby. I'd play with my food later. Drool dripped from my teeth as I suddenly remembered I was _hungry_. I stepped out of the shadows, looming over Fenrir as I unkinked myself from the slouching position I tended to favour when I was lurking. I wrapped my talons around his neck and face, the pads of my fingers sticking to his skin like a gecko on glass.

"Fenrir Greyback," I whispered, my voice but a growl that slid between my elongated teeth. "You have been a very bad man."

Greyback, frozen in place save for the beating of his heart and the breaths from his lungs, stared hatefully into space, unable to even look me in the face with his hatred. I could smell it though, wafting off his skin like a horrible perfume—the mix of animal and man twisted in a mockery of unnatural scents. A natural wolf was never one to kill for hate—save for those times when raised to by "help." Abuse-driven hate usually came from the hands of humans. What I saw in Fenrir Greyback, what I smelled on him, was pure spite. He hated all things human. He hated that he was human all but three days of a month. The only thing he loved was the hate—and the Dark magic that allowed him to hurt others.

The magic in him was writhing under his skin in visible rivulets, struggling to come to me. It _wanted_ to join with me, if only I would set it free. I could see the veins of magic in him as one would sense the veins and arteries of blood through Muggle imaging technology. My shadow was trembling in anticipation.

Slowly and deliberately, I reached out to my shadow and took it back into myself, and Fenrir screamed silently in my head. It wasn't that I was doing anything painful, as I'd nabbed a few Death Eaters in their sleep and they didn't even bother to wake up, but that he knew what was happening. He knew what had happened to his "allies". I hadn't killed any of them, but waking up without magic surrounded by pureblood fanatics probably didn't "help" them afterwords. Albus would read about it in the Prophet the next day:

 ** _Death Eater Found Dead in Muggle London —Obliviator Teams Spurred Into Action!_**

Correction. Albus would read about it, and then he would read it to me as if daring me to say something about it. Hell, what was I going to say? Burp? Sorry, someone else murdered my mark after I was done and left him or her strewn haphazardly in a Muggle park and bleeding out of every orifice? I wasn't the monster leaving bloody corpses everywhere, thank you very much. I left my marks alive and abandoned by their magic. Read the _alive_ part.

Besides, blood was a complete bitch to get out of my fur. I had to get my shadow to scrub my back for me—not that my shadow ever minded, but still. It's the principle of the thing. Thank Dumbledore for the private chambers and bath for those private moment when you have your shadow scrubbing bits of some wizard that exploded on you—not because of you so much as his fellow hitting him with the envicerate spell instead of the big scary monster. I still had to get back to the Gryffindor dorm and pretend to be a student, but at least I had a safe place for my photo albums, tomes I didn't want Ronald Weasley putting his bbq sauced hands on, and myself during certain times of the month when not looking like a Lovecraftian Elder God was harder than most.

As for Fenrir Greyback—he knew his time had finally come, and he proved it by loosing his bowels and emptying his bladder down his legs in terror. You can act just as macho as you want, buddy, but the bowels and bladder never lie.

"Tell me, Mr Greyback," I said, the tip of my claw running down his half-formed muzzle. "If your magic had a choice, would it stay with you? Is your transformation rooted in your own magic—cursed or blessed—or is it truly a contagion-like virus that hides in your nerve bundles waiting for the next outbreak like _Herpes Simplex_ or, if you prefer, _Herpes Zoster_?"

I stared down his muzzle and into his eyes, knowing that what he'd see in my eyes would be the fathomless dark of the midnight sky. "Do you remain a werewolf when your magic is gone? Or do you remain trapped in that moment, neither man nor wolf?"

My lips pulled back from my teeth. "Perhaps, you become a real wolf, driven by instinct and not that pathetic semblance of humanity that corrupts your mind and makes you think converting children by savaging them is perfectly okay."

"Would you survive?" I purred. "As a _real_ wolf?"

My tentacles were itching, so I unfurled them from my back, extending them out to slide along Fenrir's unmoving body. They snaked around my wings and poked Fenrir in multiple places, causing his magic to surge and struggle to be free. My tentacles were like my shadow. They had personality of their own and curiosity to spare, but their main concern was me. They stayed with me instead of doing reconnaissance. Honestly, I preferred it that way. Disembodied tentacles would be creepy.

Erm, creep _ier._

The tentacles slithered across Fenrir's paralysed body, hissing in both curiosity and annoyance. I didn't like him, so they didn't even pretend to like him either. They still wanted to know what made him tick—one piece at a time, like a kid in a candy store having to touch everything in the place. It was like having two dozen curious toddlers connected to you.

Curious, overprotective, homicidal toddlers.

Someone would argue that is just typical toddler behaviour, but the jury was out on that. I actually had to have spawn… er, toddlers, before I could truly compare the two, and who in the nine, er eight, worlds was going to find someone like _ME_ attractive?

My whiskers were rubbing my ears as my tentacles poked the paralysed werewolf. I rest my case. If only mum could see me know. Scratch that. Please, no. Never that. My mum was a gloriously loving and accepting person, but she did _not_ need to know what her baby girl looked like when she put her hair down or fur and tentacles out as the case may be.

 _"Mum, I'd like you meet tentacle number fifteen through thirty-three. One through fourteen are taking a nap. Oh, and this is my shadow. Shadow, mum. Mum, shadow."_

Yeah, no. No and no.

My drool reminded me that dinner was still in front of me and my magical "stomach" was growling insistently. It wasn't audible, mind you, but it might as well have been. I gave my shadow free reign to do whatever it wanted to do, and my tentacles followed suit. I wrapped him in a cocoon of Lovecraftian love, and all of his magic came pouring out of him, sliding over my tentacles, wings, fur—everything. It was like dropping into a warm, perfect bath. His magic tasted strange—a mixture of human and a certain alien "something" that was hard to place. It came to me all the same, sending a rippling shiver down my spine and a purr through my body. As it passed into my body, I felt like a wolf brushed against me in passing.

Suddenly, I heard howls echoing throughout the forest, and my ears pinned back sharply. A few of my tentacles perked, and I could almost see the punctuation marks above their tips as a sort of tentacle emote, Muggle-style. Time was rapidly running out.

My shadow returned to me, seemingly sensing that feeding time was over and the terms of our hunt had changed. I counted howls. There were at least ten. My eyes flicked to Professor Snape's face and the man was wearing a rather ambiguous expression considering his current situation.

I stared at his arm—the Dark Mark starkly vivid and writhing on his skin, and then I looked into his eyes, a low growl rising in the back of my throat. He was one of Dumbledore's professors. He was an agent of the Dark Lord. Fenrir had called him a traitor. I stared him directly in the eyes, for the first time seeing the black of my own eyes mirrored in someone else's. My shadow rubbed against his shadow, and again I felt the shiver down my spine that went directly to my feet, curling my toes with a surge of ecstasy. His lips parted, pupils dilating, and I knew he felt it too.

My nostrils flared, and I decided to try communication before my instincts caused me to rub against him like a cat and smear my face all over his. _What the fuck, Hermione? He's your—should be—well, he's Hermione the student's teacher!_

 _You haven't been a student in years, Hermione, and you know it. Thank Dumbledore's time-turner for that._

 _Shut up. Shut up!_

"Can I trust you?" I asked, sounding oh so stupid even in my own head.

"Yes," he said, his voice clearly expressing his uneasiness.

"Do I have to take you with this tree, or can I release you?"

"You can," he replied slowly, "release me. I will not attack you."

My nostrils flared as I pressed them to his skin and inhaled deeply, tasting his scent for a lie. I could feel his nose against my skin, taking in my scent as I was taking in his. He wasn't lying.

"I'm going to release you," I said, my voice but a whisper against his skin. My claws raked carefully against the ropes, snapping them one by one.

He took in a deep breath, wheezing as the ropes fell away. He looked me directly in the eyes. "May I retrieve my wand?"

The howls were quickly closing in.

"Get your wand," I said, deciding in that moment to trust him.

He winced, bending down to pick his wand off the ground. The moment it touched him, I saw the relief in his magic as it swirled back together, assimilating the wand back into the collective of his innate magic.

Fenrir's little anti-Apparition jinx was still in effect. I could feel its annoying vibration against my skin. I extended my—talons to Professor Snape. "I will take you away from here," I said. My ears flicked as I tried to pinpoint how close the werewolves were. There was a good chance my shadow would scare the piss out of them quite literally, but why take the chance. My mark was dealt with—

What the hell was I going to do with him? Leave him here and he would be torn apart by werewolves. Fitting, but messy. I loathed messy. Messy inevitably came back and bit me on the rump. If anything was going to bite me on the rump, it should at least take me out for dinner and a movie first.

I pulled out a small "stone" on a cord from my beaded bag, clacking my talons against the surface until it glowed bright blue. I pulled out small spool and traced a sigil on it, and it unfurled, spinning around Fenrir until he looked like he was going to undergo an insect metamorphosis—save for the cute little red bow on top. If you were going to tie someone up in a ribbon that could not be cut, you might as well humiliate them a bit at the same time, right?

I muttered the paralysis spell that all Aurors knew and only they could break. _Thanks, Moody-dad._ Fenrir went stiff as a board with only the little red bow waving in the wind above his rather large arse.

I leaned in to whisper to the glowing stone. "A clean shirt'll do ye," I said in my best Alastor Moody lilt.

Fenrir Greyback disappeared with a fwoop as the portkey whisked him away to Alastor Moody's desk at the DMLE. _You're welcome, you cantankerous old malcontent._

That was one of my favourite lessons from Alastor: the Portkey to Alastor's desk trick. Normally, this was used to port important evidence to a safe spot at a moment's notice, but I had a feeling that the night-shift Aurors would be sending Alastor an extremely baffled Patronus message very, very soon. One thing he'd given me attunement for was to port things directly to his desk at the DMLE, the containment cell they had for emergencies, and the front green. He'd forgotten who I was, but he'd also forgotten that he'd gotten me authorisation and had painstakingly taught me how to craft official Portkeys on an as-needed basis. One day, I'd have to thank him for that. For now, my thanks came in the form of a trussed up possibly-ex-werewolf on his desk at work.

I extended my arm to the Potions master. "I will fly us somewhere safe." I said, my ears swiveling as my nostrils flared. "Where we can," I said awkwardly. "Talk."

Snape was silent as a graveyard, but he looped his arm with mine. I pulled him against me and sprung into the air, unfurling my wings as I carried us both into the air and away. We could see the werewolves snuffling around where we had been, and they howled for their pack leader that would never answer them again.

I was unaccustomed to carrying a—passenger with me. It wasn't to say I wasn't used to carrying extra weight because I was. I'd hunted enough oversized game to more than cover any weight one underweight Potions master might be, but I didn't want to accidently drop the man either. Saving the man from werewolf attack to drop him on some moor in Wales—probably not a great way to win Albus' favour.

My tentacles seemed to realise that some sort of safety maneuver was required, and they swirled around his body and locked around him. I pulled my will together, envisioned where I wanted to be—

 ** _CRACK!_**

* * *

"Do you wish me to find religion?" Snape asked me rather dryly as I released him from my embrace. He peered down over the sleeping city of Paris with one finely tuned and arched eyebrow.

"Intruder!" a voice growled.

"Hold!" another voice said.

"No, I would know this one anywhere," another voice spoke up calmly. "Hermione."

"Bastion," I greeted, rubbing my head against his in an accustomed greeting, my whiskers tickled his stone-like skin in a caress.

"Who do you bring us?" the old gargoyle asked, scratching his ear with his rear leg.

"I am not sure," I confessed, my attempts to decipher Professor Snape's true allegiance having fallen back in favour of a werewolf attack escape plan.

"Hermione!" That was all the warning I got before a young gargoyle pup slammed into my chest and threw me to the ground.

"Oof!" I managed to say. "Sabine, you are such a menace!"

"Hermione! Hermione!" The young gargoyle smothered me as best she could. "You promised me we could fly over Paris together! You _promised!_ "

I gave Bastion a look, and he had that familiar twinkle I'd come to associate with advanced age. It flashed in his eyes, and I knew I wouldn't be getting any help from him. I tickled Sabine mercilessly using my tentacles until she howled with pleasure, and she clung to my chest like a baby monkey. I wasn't getting rid of her any time soon. "Shouldn't you be with your mum?" I asked lamely.

Sabine crinkled her nose, flattening her ears. "Mum is guarding the _Basilica du Sacré-Coeur_. She said to bother her later."

"Poor wretch!" I teased. "Whatever shall you do?"

"Pounce you!" Sabine giggled, thumping into me again.

"Oi!" I complained. "Let me tend to business before pleasure, scoundrel."

Sabine slumped and visibly drooped from nose to tail. "Okay," she said, sounding thoroughly dejected.

Bastion plucked the pup off me, causing her to wriggle helplessly. "Go stalk your uncle. Adult business will utterly bore you."

Sabine slinked off, skulking, obviously not convinced.

"And who are you?" Bastion asked Professor Snape.

The tall wizard looked decidedly uneasy. "I am Severus Snape," he said quietly, bowing his head slightly in deference. He looked at me and then away quickly. He had heard my name. He probably connected the dots. There were not that many Hermiones out there.

The gargoyle elder tilted his head, staring. "I am Bastion, one elder of many here at _Notre-Dame de Paris_. Hermione brings you before us, so either she believes the weight of your sins are too cloudy to evaluate on her own or she believes you are… complicated."

Bastion narrowed his eyes, nose working. "You and she both are—equally complicated. But you know this, don't you?"

Snape's skin managed to become even more pale. "Yes," he said.

"But you did not tell her," Bastion said. "Why?"

"It's," Snape started to say, "complicated."

Complicated. That was the story of my life. The truth was, I wasn't sure what to make of Professor Snape, so I brought him to those who had about a few thousand more years of experience in judging character: _les gargouilles de Notre-Dame._ If anyone could stare into your soul and find value, it was them. They were one of the few I trusted. They'd taken me in when I crash landed into their rookery due to a bad stress-Apparition during one of my first missions. I had meant to hide in the old cathedral my parents had taken me to as a child. I remembered feeling safe there, staring at the flying buttresses, clerestories, and triforiums. I'd forgotten to specify geography, and bam, I showed up arse over teakettle in the middle of a gargoyle rookery with about a dozen newly hatched gargoyle pups staring at me with fascination.

 _"Mère?" they had gasped at once, all of them projecting the kind of love people would kill for just to feel it from their kids._

That was were Bastion and his fellows had found me: covered in snuggling gargoyle pups in the middle of his shared rookery. I couldn't escape their grasp, those tiny bundles of gargoyle pups had me wrapped around their little paws and wings before I could make my exit. And, because of contact with them, I had spouted a "proper" set of gargoyle wings to wrap around "my pups" and keep them warm—and I knew how to speak gargoyle-French. None of this helped me convince them I wasn't their _mère._ I was more their mum thanks to my body's assimilation of their genetic imprint than I had been when I landed, and I had this irrepressible desire to bathe each one and brood them under my wings.

It had taken a few hours to sort out introductions, soul-evaluations, and all the things you'd expect a few thousand years of magical gargoyle society to do when they found you brooding their newly hatched pups in their supposedly hidden rookery. The Wizengamot had nothing on gargoyles; gargoyles looked right into the core of you. It took another few hours to convince the little ones that no, I wasn't their _mère,_ but this fine looking (and suspicious-looking) gargoyle over here was actually their _mère_. Fortunately, gargoyle society was very communal, so having multiple mums was apparently okay. They accepted their real mums as mum number two, and I was inadvertently adopted into the _les gargouilles de Notre-Dame_ family. I had the love-bites of about a dozen-some gargoyle pups to prove it. I mean that, literally. Gargoyle pups leave a magical mark on their very first broodmates (and the lucky brooder) so they always have a connection through life. I couldn't escape them if I wanted to. Not that I wanted to. They kinda… grew on me.

However, my bond with the gargoyles wasn't helping Professor Snape survive Bastion's scrutiny, nor the five or so other gargoyle elders that were not guarding something on this particular night. All of them were peering at Snape with disturbingly hungry looks, and while I knew Professor Snape had his wand, I think both he and I knew that his fate depended on words than spell-flinging skill. I think he also knew that if he lifted one finger against the gargoyles, I'd be fighting him and sending a Patronus to Dumbledore in the same breath. Win or lose, he would lose in the end.

"I was told I was failure," Snape told Bastion. "There would be no others. He knew what the Mark would do to me. He knew it would cover up his failure."

The Mark. It was a grotesque thing upon his arm. It was both magical and not. It was unnatural more than anything. But, as I looked closer, I realised Snape was not lying. It was suppressing the wizard in some way. Dark fingers of magic dug into his normal magical pathways, perverting them as it connected him to the man would be the Dark Lord.

Everyone knew that the Dark Lord marked only his trusted inner circle. Death Eaters, his finest Knights of Walpurgis. To be Marked was death sentence, one way or another. Be caught by an Auror and you were sent to Azkaban. Step out of line from the Dark Lord, and he would see you dead. The only one who won was the Dark Lord.

"What were you doing out in Wales with a werewolf?" I asked. Albus had given me the mark. He was usually very meticulous about giving marks that would be alone.

Snape's arm twitched, and his face twisted in pain. "I cannot—" he hissed.

That's when I saw it—the tendrils of a vow wrapped around his arm like a mummy's bandages. "He's vowed," I said to Bastion. "Answering the questions will kill him."

The gargoyles whispered amongst themselves. Bastion sighed and looked over to me. "It would behoove you to remove the magic from this wizard's arm."

Snape turned white as a sheet, and I didn't blame him. What magical being would choose to be without their magic? Many, just like Snape, would rather live a cursed, painful life with magic and any life without it. I saw him pondering Disapparation right then and there, caught between the rock and the hard place.

If he disapparated, I'd tell Dumbledore about his spy.

If he stayed, he risked losing his magic, or at the very least getting in a brawl with me, which would lead to me telling Dumbledore about his spy.

If he engaged me in combat and somehow managed to kill me before I could send a Patronus, the entire population of gargoyles would probably do their damndest to rip him to pieces and scatter his guts across the top of the cathedral. What a wonderful thought.

"Just the arm, Hermione," Bastion said. "The part that curses him."

I frowned. "I've never—"

"You can," the gargoyle said. "Consider it supping on only the caviar and leaving the cracker."

What a horrible analogy. Leave it to French gargoyles to give me comparisons that somehow relate to caviar.

The truth was, once I began to feed it was really hard to stop. I had before—to elongate the discourse between myself and my mark to get information out of them—but I had never just stopped and withdrawn completely. With marks, it didn't matter if you didn't stop. Eventually, they were to be drained completely anyway. Professor Snape was not a mark. If I fucked it up, he could be a squib forever.

"Do you wish to be—free?" I asked my Potions professor. I eyed his Mark and the writhing magic.

Snape twitched, his face twisted in anguish. "Yes," he whispered.

I swallowed hard. "Will you… trust me, Professor?"

He stared into my eyes—his eyes were black, black like mine. I knew he'd seen horrible things, and he'd lived with them.

"You were never just a student, were you?" he said.

"I was once," I answered truthfully. "A long time ago."

"Hidden," he said, wincing. "Right under my nose. What an idiot I am."

"I'm sorry," I found myself saying. "For being such a pain in your arse in class."

"You know what you were doing all along," he accused.

"To be fair, my first year I was just as oblivious as Neville," I replied.

"No one is as oblivious as Longbottom," Snape growled.

"You may be right," I agreed.

"How do you counter adding too much moondew in a night vision potion?" he asked.

I smiled, my fangs glinting. "You don't. Moondew you can add all day and it never makes a difference."

"How do you extract the juice from a Sopophorous bean?"

"Common knowledge says to slice them," I answered, watching his face carefully. He scowled at me. "But that is rubbish. If you use the flat of the blade, you can crush the bean to get the juice."

I leaned into him, my lips pulling back from my teeth as my whiskers trembled in anticipation. "But what fewer still know, if you whisper to them kindly and promise to put their remains in the ground, they will give you their juice willingly and give you a new plant in the spring." _Thank you, Masters Dewey, Cheatum, and Howe._

I saw something pass across Snape's face—something I'd never thought to see on his face at any period of time under any condition: respect.

His black eyes stared into me. "Do it then." He closed his eyes, perhaps not wanting to see whatever it was I'd do to him—as he'd already had front row seats to what I'd done to Fenrir Greyback.

I looked up to Bastion, and he nodded to me.

My shadow moved away from me, brushing against his, and I felt the thrill of ecstasy as I did so. Snape's eyes opened wide as I lay him back against my arm, cradling him like the Pietà. "I will try very hard not to hurt you, Professor," I said quietly.

"Severus," he said hoarsely.

"Severus," I said, rolling the sound of his name over my tongue. His eyes fluttered at the sound of his name passing my lips. My shadow was embracing his shadow, but unlike with Fenrir, there was no hunger for his magic, only the Dark parasite that was digging into his magic and the unnatural Unbreakable Vow's ribbon-like tendrils: a leash by any other name.

As my claws passed over his arm, the magic of the vow tried to evade me, sliding around my claws like a minnow desperate to escape the net, but I was no net. I was a pike. My net was replaced by dagger-long teeth. My tentacles wriggled along my back, elongating and hissing to each other. To me, it sounded like wind chimes—their hissing was like soft music on the wind. They wrapped around his body, holding him still, allowing my talons to go where they would. I breathed in the scent of the Vow's magic and stopped.

Albus.

I knew the feel of his magic as clear as I knew mine, perhaps even better. My magic evolved with every feed. His remained distinct and unchanging—solid as a rock and just as hard to erode. Not impossible, but not easy. Somehow, Severus had been bound by Albus, not by loyalty or promise in words, but a sworn oath bound to his magical life-force. Why? Why require such a thing?

I drew my claws down his arm, and Snape convulsed as his magic—no his interloping magic—writhed and tried to escape my touch. I knew it would affect his mind and make him see me as demons incarnate, and perhaps it wouldn't be so wrong.

I smiled, breathing across his arm with my fog-like breath, and that magic that was not Snape's froze in place, entranced by the siren call of my magic calling to it. Now, instead of running away, it rushed back to my talons, crawling over my skin, and burrowing into my body—anything, ANYTHING to join with the lure of the pool of magic that called so sweetly to it. It wanted to. It _needed_ to.

"Hrrrsssss," I growled, as darkness spread over my skin, every scale, every hair, every tentacle, and then the pool of magic that grew with every feed rushed out to assimilate the invaders and there was a rush of warm of pure power and pleasure that novaed outward. My eyes rolled back, but I opened them soon after, seeing colours I never knew existed.

His shadow was pressing against mine. They rubbed against each other like two cats, and his—transformed.

Dark tendrils sprouted from his shadow as a fanged maw elongated. Spiny wings emerged from his shadow, followed by tendrils of membrane that stretched to cover the span between the spines. A long, sinuous tail whipped up from the base of his shadow's spine and lashed back and forth, the end splitting into multiples.

It was then our shadows seemed to take a dive into each other. There was a roar in my ears, and I fell into Professor Snape as though the darkness was swallowing me whole.

* * *

 _"You're an unnatural freak like your mother," a voice slurred loudly in the dark._

 _SMACK!_

 _Blood trickled down the pale-boy's cheek and hand as he wiped his face._

 _"Fucking her was the worst mistake of my life."_

 _A large hand choked the boy and shoved him against the wall. "Having you was the second."_

* * *

 _The boy was sitting in the dimness of a corner, hugging his knees to him as a fight was going on in a nearby room._

 _"You think you can sneak buying that shite for that worthless wretch? You think I wouldn't notice that I didn't have enough to buy four cases of beer instead of three? Well I noticed, didn't I?"_

 _SMACK!_

 _"DIDN'T I!?"_

 _SMACK!_

 _"Y—yes, Tobias, you noticed."_

 _"You are a freak and an stupid bint!"_

 _Gurgling noises came through the wall, and the boy grabbed his ears, rocking himself back and forth._

 _"Say it!"_

 _Gurgle._

 _"SAY. IT!"_

 _"I'm a freak and a stupid bint!"_

 _THUD._

 _"Good. Now fetch me a beer before I get angry."_

 _"Yes, Tobias."_

 _"Just be glad I broke that stupid stick of yours instead of your neck."_

 _The boy rocked himself back and forth, back and forth. "When I have magic, mum, I'll make him sorry. He'll wait on you. He'll wait on_ you _."_

* * *

 _"This is your Gringott's account, Severus," the woman said, her face haggard and weary. "I've transferred everything you'll need to get through school and pay for your supplies."_

 _"But, mummy, you'll be there to get my supplies with me!" Severus clung to her sleeve._

 _The weary woman brushed his hair away from his face. "I'll always be right here, Severus," she said, tapping his chest. "I promise. Mummy just had to talk to some people to make sure you got through school. To make sure you were provided for."_

 _"You're going to be okay?" Severus asked, clinging to her sleeve. People at the bank were staring—they in their robes and funny clothes staring at him and his oversized hand-me-downs and his Muggle-looking mum._

 _"As long as you are at school and doing well, I'll be fine, love," she replied. "You promise you'll work hard, right? You'll make me proud?"_

 _"I promise," Severus replied. He tugged on her sleeve. "What House were you in mummy? I want to be in what House you were in."_

 _"That was a long time ago, love," his mother admonished. "Houses don't matter. People matter."_

 _"Please, mum!"_

 _She ruffled his hair. "Slytherin, my dear. That was my House."_

 _Severus straightened. "I'm going to be Slytherin too!"_

* * *

 _Severus sat in the mud, soaked to the bone._

 _"Look, Snivellus is all dirty!"_

 _"He'll get used to it. All the Slytherin are, aren't they, Sirius?"_

 _"Yeah, James, what a wanker. Look, he's going to cry! Mr Slytherin is better is going to cry!"_

 _The boys shoved Severus, dropping his books in a puddle._

* * *

 _A single pristine lily bloomed from the end of a wand, glistening with perfect pearls of dew._

 _"Get away from me, Sev!" a flaming red-head yelled, using her hand to smack the flower away. The flower and wand went flying away, clattering to the ground. "I don't want your apologies. I don't want your excuses, and I don't want your gifts._

 _"Lily, I'm so sorry," Severus said, falling to his knees contritely. "Please. Please! I didn't mean it. I **never** meant it!"_

 _The flame-haired witch just scoffed at him. She curled her lip at him. "You don't ever change, Sev. You grovel to me, and then you go right back to Avery and Mulciber and suck up to your little Death Eater buddies. That's what you **really** want, isn't it? To be a powerful Dark wizard that no one can deny. You want your revenge on your childhood? Is that—"_

 _"Lily!" Severus said hoarsely. "I'm sorry!"_

 _"Save it, Sev," Lily said with a scowl, her boot stomping onto the flower and then deliberately crushing it under her heel. "Don't ever try and talk to me again."_

 _She stormed by him, pushing him away and knocking him off kelter and into the mud. He remained there, unmoving, hands trembling._

 _Others brushed by him—Potter, Black, Lupin, and Pettigrew. They all stepped on his lily adorned wand, laughing like hyenas._

 _Crack._

 ** _CRACK!_**

 _Magic sputtered and died as Severus' wand crunched under their heels._

 _Severus stared down at his broken wand, tears streaming down his face. His face was no long that of a young boy, but the emotion on his face was raw and clear for all to see._

 _"You tell him, Lily!" a dirty brown-haired boy snickered. Pettigrew groveled around Lily, preening her ego, encouraging her anger—as long as it wasn't directed at_ him _._

 _They swept away with Lily, leaving Severus alone in the mud with his broken wand._

 _Long, wizened fingers picked up the broken wand from the mud. "Tell me, young Mr Snape," Dumbledore's voice said as he tapped the broken wand with his. The wand pulled itself together with a snap. He handed it to Severus. "How would you like to help me with a problem I have? In exchange, I can guarantee no one will ever look at you the same again."_

 _The young Snape stared up at the headmaster, his eyes full of pain and hate. "What do you want from me, Headmaster?"_

 _"A little time, a little obedience, and someone willing to do what needs to be done," Dumbledore said, putting out his hand to help Snape up._

 _Snape stared at the hand for a while and finally clasped it, pulling himself up. He glared spitefully in the direction the gang of Gryffindor left. "Just tell me what I have to do."_

 _"Excellent."_

* * *

 _"I'm a fucking **MONSTER!** " Severus hissed, towering over Dumbledore as he stood in the headmaster's office._

 _Dumbledore waved his wand over Severus, using his magic to alter his change back into that of a relatively ordinary man. "Once you are Marked, that magic will keep you from changing. You'll be normal again and in the perfect position to keep an eye on him."_

 _"I could have done that without looking like THIS!" Severus growled, his tail lashing outward wildly, knocking over a globe, a tea service, and about a dozen scrolls off Albus' desk._

 _"Alas, Severus, you just change enough. You were supposed to be able to siphon the magic from your victims, but instead you merely siphon their physical energy. While that is indeed a great thing, if I wanted you to isolate someone and render them unconscious, that does not help us. Not in the way we would truly need. What is best now is for you to be put into play so I can keep updated with what is going on in Tom's organisation, yes?"_

 _"You want me to be_ his _spy as I am_ your _spy," Severus growled, even as his body fought the forcible change back into a human shape._

 _"This would be much easier if you would will yourself back into a human shape, Severus," Albus said, ignoring his growls._

 _"That requires me to not be completely brassed off," Severus snarled._

 _Albus simply shrugged. "I realise my experiment has failed, Severus, but once you are in place, you won't have to worry about the transformations any more. We both will get what we want."_

 _Severus growled as his muzzle shrank back into a human face. "A slave."_

 _"Tut, tut, Severus," Albus said. "I did pay for your education, after all."_

* * *

 _Hermione screamed, running into the arms of the elder wizard, crying._

 _"There, there, little Miss Granger," Albus comforted. "The troll is quite dead now."_

 _Hermione just whimpered, trying to bury herself in the wizard's robes._

 _"Hey, chin up," the Headmaster said. "You did very well blinding him with that spell, but no one would have expected you to take on the likes of him all on your own."_

 _Hermione sniffled, wiping her face with her sleeve._

 _"Tell you what, hrm?" the elder wizard said softly. "What if I teach you how to be special? How does that sound? What if I could make it so you never have to fear nasty, smelling trolls like that one ever again? Would you like that?"_

 _Hermione nodded, sniffling a little less. "Yes, but what can I do?"_

 _"A little time, a little obedience, and someone willing to do what needs to be done," Dumbledore said with a twinkle in his eyes. "Will you help me?"_

 _Hermione stared down at the troll. "I never want to be helpless again," she said._

 _"Excellent," Dumbledore said, gently wiping her tears away. "We'll start tonight right after curfew. I will come for you, so you needn't worry."_

 _"Okay, Headmaster Dumbledore," Hermione said with a nod, taking a big breath of air and squaring her shoulders resolutely._

* * *

 _"I'm a **monster!** " Hermione screeched in horror, her grossly oversized wings knocking over Albus' meticulous stack of scrolls as her tail snapped, sending his globe flying across the office. _

_"There, there, my dear," Albus placated, touching her shoulder and rubbing it gently. "There was no way you could have known that the Polyjuice would react that way in combination with our magical regimen!"_

 _"I should never have made it!" Hermione cried. "I should never have helped them!"_

 _"I asked you to help, Hermione," Dumbledore soothed. "Please, I'm sure that if you manage to relax, you'll be able to reverse some of the more significant physical changes. Perhaps there was some sort of contamination in the potion. You_ did _say you were brewing it in a girl's lavatory—the one haunted by a ghost named Myrtle."_

 _Hermione tried to sit down in the nearby chair, but it broke under her more massive, bestial form. She snarled, tentacles popping out of her back one by one until a dozen or more writhed off her back like the snakes that crowned the head of Medusa._

 _"Deep breaths, Hermione, you trust me, now, don't you?" Dumbledore brushed his hands over hers, rubbing the back of her hands with his thumbs._

 _Slowly, Hermione began to revert, all of her bestial traits fading until she looked more or less human again._

 _"There now, you see?" Dumbledore said, nodding in approval. "You are capable of anything, my dear."_

 _Hermione threw her arms around Dumbledore's waist and clung to him tightly. "I'm_ so _glad you're here!"_

 _Albus patted her hair tenderly. "It'll all be okay, my dear, I promise." He gently traced a finger on her back with his free hand—a series of glowing runes appearing down her back briefly before fading and then disappearing._

 _Hermione took in a deep breath and sat up straight. "What do you require of me, Albus?"_

 _"I have some masters I re quire you to meet and work with," Albus said. "They will train and prepare you for the next step."_

 _Hermione stood up, no trace of emotion hampering her any longer. "I am ready."_

* * *

 _Her claws curved around Rookwood's neck as she snarled directly into the Death Eater's face. Her shadow pinned his against the brick wall. Around them, Muggles walked around them—all oblivious, save for one young child._

 _"Mummy, that shadow looks like a monster!"_

 _"Just a trick of the light, love," the woman said bracingly, hoisting the boy onto her shoulder and quickly carrying him away._

 _None of the passersby seemed to notice that their own shadows had disappeared completely. None of them noticed the monster pinning a terrified man against the wall._

 _"Hello," Hermione breathed lowly into Rookwood's face, "Death Eater."_

 _"I don't have any idea what you're talking about!" he wheezed, but his bowels and bladder had already betrayed him._

 _"I'm sure your arm just wandered off to get tattooed all on its own," Hermione purred, her claws tearing away the cloth over his arm, exposing the writhing skull and serpent beneath._

 _"I was_ forced _to take it!" Rookwood wheezed. "Please, my entire family will die if I don't do what he says."_

 _Hermione's grip on the man loosened slightly, and she slowly put his feet back on the ground. "Tell me of your family."_

 _"I—I have a son. He's only ten," Rookwood sputtered. "His mother wanted to send him to Durmstrang, but we didn't have the money to sent him to a school so far away. Durmstrang isn't like Hogwarts. They want money and all of it upfront. The Dark Lord paid the fees. All I have to do is tell him what's going on at the Ministry. I swear, that's_ all _I do!"_

 _Hermione pulled away from the man, pacing._

 _"Please, I just want to go home to my family," the wizard pleaded._

 _Hermione closed her eyes a moment, thinking, her tail lashing in her frustration to decide what to do._

 _"_ Avada Kedavra _!" A bright green beam careened toward Hermione and hit her straight in the face._

 _Hermione's eyes opened and saw a secondary wand in Rookwood's hand. He was pointing it at her in full expectation of the usual, very final outcome, but as her lips pulled back sharply from her teeth, Rookwood abruptly realised he had made a very big error in judgment. Hermione's fur stood on end as the magical blast connected his magic and will to_ her _. Her muzzle elongated, teeth sharpening. Her tongue slithered out a little longer and slimier. A green glow passed across her black, black eyes and rippled over her body. One glowing, new tentacle sprouted from her back, lashing back and forth angrily. The other tentacles rubbed up against it immediately, and the glow faded as a new, black tentacle took its place on her back._

 _Her tail whipped out and snaked around his ankles as her tentacles struck, sending her shadow to pin him once more. Her claws wrapped around his neck, and she breathed on him, calling to his magic. And it came in a rush of magical heat, spewing from his body as though she were pulling a copy of himself away. His magic flooded over her—every inch of her monstrous body—and then seeped into her._

 _She stepped away, teeth bared in menace. Her shadow returned to her, and his went fleeing into the night to escape hers. "May you live in interesting times, Rookwood," Hermione growled._

 _Rookwood still had his wand in his hand, and he thrust it outward. "Crucio! Incarcerous!" He shook his wand madly, slapping it against his palm as if to wake it up. "Imperio!"_

 _Hermione pulled her wand out from her beaded bag and pointed it at Rookwood. "Obliviate."_

 _Rookwood went stumbling backwards from the force of the magical blast, falling into a trash can. When he opened his eyes and looked around, holding the strange stick in his hand and looking at it with a puzzled expression, Hermione was gone._

* * *

 _"You must not let their lies dissuade you from your task, Hermione," Dumbledore said as he watched her polish off about five lemon sherbets at once, even running one across her tongue like a scraper._

 _Hermione growled as her bestial form slowly reverted into something more human. "It will not happen again."_

 _Dumbledore nodded and handed her an album._

 _"What is this?" she asked, flipping it open._

 _"Portraits of you as you would appear as you age," Albus said. "So you appear the correct age in your classes."_

 _Hermione stared at the portraits and flipped through the album. "Why be in classes at all? I have more than enough to keep me busy as it is."_

 _"Hermione Granger must not disappear suddenly or change in a strange manner, Hermione," Albus chided me. "Everyone must think you are a perfectly normal student here, and you_ must _be there for Harry, Ron, and Ginevra as they require it."_

 _Hermione narrowed her eyes. "As you wish," she said. She looked out the window to the rising moon. "Why do you even need them? Is my service not satisfactory?"_

 _"Hermione," Dumbledore said, putting a hand on her shoulder. "I simply have a different series of tasks for them. What you are doing is highly essential so that their tasks have a much better chance of succeeding."_

 _Hermione sighed and nodded, plucking another lemon sherbert out of the bowl and rolling it around on her tongue again. "I just wish your missions didn't taste quite so horrible."_

* * *

-Severus-

I found myself under a very familiar willow tree from my childhood—my bastion from my abusive father and rotton home. It had been for so many years. Yet, all of that had changed after my sixth year. That was the year my boot went directly into my mouth and never left. It was the year I called Lily a Mudblood and then every dream I had ever had of having at least one lifelong friend had been burned away forever.

Yet, even with all that had happened, this memory remained calm and peaceful in a strange sort of always-spring. It was always springtime here under this tree inside my mind. It was always… peaceful.

I looked down at my hands, and they were human. I was wearing an old, highly-abused ELO t-shirt that my father had hated, which was why I had loved it so much. I was also sporting a very battered and frayed pair of Muggle denims, typical of my childhood when most of what I wore was from whatever charity shop my mother managed to sneak me out to when my drunken father was supposedly working. My shoes had literally come off a truck bed—some bloke was selling things out of the back of his truck to make enough money to get enough petrol to make it to family somewhere out near Wales.

The scenery was still peaceful, but my wardrobe memories of the time were still horrendous reminders of all the things I hated about growing up dirt poor in Cokesworth.

Once we came to Hogwarts, Lily always said that she felt like she had left her past behind her. Her parents saved up extra hard to support her, and sometimes I wondered if the reason she and Petunia were always in a row was because Lily was the prized, perfect princess who did everything right and Petunia was left with the scraps—of what Lily _didn't_ want.

Petunia had grown up to be a horribly selfish, hateful woman.

Lily grew up to hate me, but was well-loved by "everyone else."

Yet, I always seemed to think back on her as the perpetual what-if. What if I hadn't opened my big fat mouth that day? What if I hadn't been so very determined to join Slytherin, to be just like my mum? What if I hadn't been so driven to prove I was better than my abusive, drunken wastrel of a father? What if Lily had condescended to forgive me?

"It's so beautiful here," Hermione said dreamily, appearing at the shore of my memory just as plain as day. She was wearing, rather ironically, an ELO t-shirt (in much better condition than mine) and an immaculate pair of fitted jeans. She had on a forest green headband to pull her hair back from her face just enough to let her bushy curls floof out around her head but not look like she had stuck her finger in an electric outlet. "Where are we?"

"You mean other than being stuck inside _my_ memory?" I asked, my lips curving with my instinctive, defensive sarcasm.

Hermione turned to regard me, her eyebrow arched into her hair. "I would like to think I'd remember where we were if it was _my_ memory."

"Cokeworth," I replied after a while. "This was perhaps the only part of it that didn't stink of the factories and look like grey death."

"Not the Black Death, then?" Hermione said dryly. "Some hope then."

It was then I realised that Hermione was definitely not the hand-waving swot that just loved to get up in my grill in class. Her voice was pitched lower and more soft—less grating—and she was older. She was, if I were to hazard a guess, in her late twenties or early thirties, but it was her eyes that gave it away. She remembered everything that had been done to her and by her, and she remembered who had done it.

"Such cheek, Miss Granger," I answered automatically, but I found the normal venom I had for all things breathing lessened somehow.

"It's Hermione," she said quietly, her voice unhindered by the sprawl of her accustomed dagger-like teeth. I saw her running her tongue across her dull, human teeth curiously, seemingly puzzled by them. She stared at her human skin, dull, useless nails, padless fingertips, and furless exterior. There was almost a strange panic in her eyes as she soundlessly felt for where her ears "should" have been on the top of her head, the long whiskers, muzzle, and even her writhing tentacles, who—if they were anything like mine had been—offered a sort of comfort in their strangeness with their soft hisses, whispers, and caresses.

She looked at me with a little distress. "Is it bad that I miss them?" she asked.

I shook my head. I looked to my arm where the Dark Mark typically sat, at least in the waking world, and I met her gaze. "When I first took the Mark, is suppressed the change, just as Albus had intended. As much as the change horrified me, I missed the whispers—the comfort. I didn't realise how much I would until I couldn't."

I was spilling my gut as though I'd never been a spy. A part of me was appalled by it, yet another part of me was relieved, so relieved to be able to. I hadn't spoken to anyone about my feelings since—Lily before our falling out.

Nuclear fallout as it was.

I knew, in my heart, that even if Lily and I had been on speaking terms before, if she saw what I had become, she wouldn't have been on speaking terms with me after. Then again—had she not spurned me so avidly, I may not have given myself to Albus for his use so freely. There are those who study time that say there are some things—fixed points—that cannot be changed no matter what we may try to do otherwise to fix it. Whether our falling out had been one of those moments fixed in time, I would never know.

"I don't know what my real face should look like," Hermione admitted. She looked into her reflection in the pond. "Is this what I should look like?"

"How long were you Time-Turning?" I asked.

"Since I was twelve," she said. "Once a day to learn what normal students learn. Once a day to learn from Albus. Once to learn from my masters, and then, twice to sleep. Except the weekends—those he left me for myself."

Merlin—that wasn't a childhood at all. Mine was crap, but at least I'd had one. And yet, she had sat in my classes, to all appearances a know-it-all swot—annoying the shite out of everyone—but she hadn't really been that at all. How… had I not noticed? Albus had trained me too. He had carved me into the agent of his use—but Hermione.

Gods. Hermione he had molded since she was twelve. He had transformed her himself into the perfect magical assassin. Totally loyal to him until one mark went wrong and he had sent her to run into me—his previous mistake.

I clenched my fists. I was angry. I was so, so angry. I wasn't even sure what I was angry about. I'd long since stopped being angry at Albus for using MY weaknesses against me—I had at least made the choice, faulty as it was, on my own power. But Hermione had been a child. She couldn't have known. She wouldn't have known.

"What do you eat?" she asked.

The question seemed so innocent, but I knew what she meant. "Energy—physical strength," I replied. "Albus considered me a failure. I could leave someone unconscious, but they would still have their magic."

"Hrmph," she said, shaking her head. "I suppose he would think anything that could wake up again would be 'a problem'."

My shadow was pushing me closer to her. It looked human—but it was definitely pushing me like the bloke that has to push his automobile because he ran out of petrol. I, like the rusted, cantankerous, stubborn bastard that I was, resisted because that is what I was used to doing. Resisting. EVERYTHING.

I could see Hermione's shadow doing the same to her, and unlike me, her shadow was making no effort to appear human. She was resisting too, but her shadow seemed to have more clout than mine did over me—she trusted hers, while I had never truly embraced mine. That was probably why mine was cursing at me in shadow-ese.

I could thank the Dark Mark for suppressing the transformation and thus hampering my acceptance of it—including my shadowy counterpart. Hermione had years to hone her relationship with her "true" self and all that entailed. I had run from mine directly into the Mark of the Dark Lord, like the idiot I'd been on multiple occasions.

Suddenly, I had an armful of Hermione, and her eyes went wide as our shadows touched again, this time, there was no mistaking the shiver of pleasure that curled my toes. It was like homecoming on a whole new level. Acceptance. Compatibility—and so much more.

Like rusted gears straining to move, my hand every so slowly reached to brush the hair from her face, my fingers spidering across her skin, and I knew. I knew she was my salvation and my doom. I would find everything I wanted in just one small touch, and I would do anything to keep it. She leaned into my touch with a cry of wonder—and I knew it was the same for her. We had never been touched by another in such a way. We'd never been allowed such intimacy.

Once, there had been a time when Lily would loop her arm in mine and walk with me. She would hold my hand as children did—innocent of social boundaries. There was even a time when she would kiss my cheek and call me silly—but it was never like this. I had wondered as a teen, if Lily would ever be "mine" and the answer was always a bitter no. It didn't stop my head from obsessively thinking about it. Hell, even now I was thinking of it, and I didn't want to at all.

But as my fingers wove into Hermione's riotous curls, I felt a keen, intense, painful pleasure of sensory overload. I pressed my nose into her hair and inhaled her scent—a deep musk mixed with the scent of earth and the forest. She was as aether—all the elements combined together into purity—and I wanted to bathe in her, roll against her, and take her into myself forever.

Part of me was screaming that this was not appropriate behaviour for a first meeting, but the other part of me was telling that part to shut the hell up. I rubbed her scalp with my fingers, stirring up the strength of her scent as I breathed it in, and she purred against me, rubbing her face against mine.

Willingly.

Eagerly.

Professor Snape isn't here right now. If you would like to leave a message—

I growled, my mouth sought the skin of her neck as I affixed myself, leech style, to her smooth skin. She whimpered against me, her hands clawing at my back. Gods, it made every fibre of my being scream for her.

I pulled away from her neck, and she stared at me, wide-eyed with a sort of keen worship.

Why was I hesitating?

Were we not consenting adults?

 _Student!_ My mind hissed at me

She was NEVER my student, not really! She was of age pretending to be my student because of Albus!

Okay, well maybe she was my student when she was eleven, but she was hardly that frizzy haired child now. Besides, you've been teaching since you were twenty, and if you treated every grown witch as the child you knew them as when they were eleven, how would that go over?

Too much thinking.

She took my hesitation as about any witch would when someone just stops moving in the middle of something glorious: rejection. I saw her shadow trying to convince her otherwise, but she withdrew—mentally and physically. Despite it being this pseudo-mindscape, it was real. She was real. What I wanted was more than real.

I quickly moved to close the gap, covering her mouth with mine in a desperate bid to win back her favour, and I crushed her against my body, wrapping my arms around her so she couldn't escape. Her arms slithered under mine, clawing at my back as our tongues enthusiastically greeted each other in a few different languages I no idea they knew.

There was an encroaching brightness all around. The trees and water were fading around us, and the ground gave way.

We were falling, and all I could hear was roaring in my ears.

* * *

I woke with a press of warmth against me and the soft inhales and exhales of the she-beast as she sprawled across my chest. Her talons were curved ever so slightly against my breast, twitching slightly in sleep. My wings were wrapped around her body, entangled in hers, and our tentacles were woven together like an exercise in basket weaving. Our tails were corkscrewed tightly together, my multiple tailtips had managed to do a good Celtic knot impression around hers.

Purrr. PurrrrrRRrrrRRRRrr.

Wriggling against me revealed about a dozen gargoyle pups snuggled against the she-beast and myself, all of them seeking the warmth of her wings and body. They were willing to settle for mine too, since we seemed to be rather entangled quite literally.

I felt eyes on me. Many, many, eyes.

Bastion and the other gargoyles were staring at us, smug smiles tugging on their monstrous muzzles.

"Hrm," Bastion said. "Find something you like?"

"Humans never recognise their lifemates unless they have help," a grizzled old gargoyle said. One of the pups was chewing on his wing spur, making insufferably cute growling noises.

"They do now, hrm?" An elder female peered at me. "He seems healthy enough. Nice wings. Good tail. No broken teeth."

Why was I blushing? Merlin. I was being evaluated for studliness by a female gargoyle.

"No missing fur or scales," another gargoyle noted, poking me with his tail. "Good start for a fine mating—if they ever get to it."

"Maybe he should bring her a food offering," another female said. "Good for the eggs."

The other gargoyles nodded in agreement.

"They need a good fly together," one of the other elders said, causing all of the gargoyle pups to perk up immediately.

"Fly?"

"Fly?"

"Fly!"

They all wriggled under Hermione's wings and nipped her excitedly.

"Hermione!"

"Hermione!"

"Take us for a fly!"

"Fly!"

A pup was gnawing on my wing, and I eyed it suspiciously. He seemed to notice he was spotted and crawled down.

"Consider it practice," a mottled gargoyle said. "Practice before you lay your own eggs in the rookery."

Merciful Merlin. What?!

An elder female poked the mottled one. "Hush, you have him thinking he gets to lay the eggs."

"Well, that would put a spin on gender roles," Bastion chuckled.

The gargoyles were chuckling amongst themselves.

"So, Severus," a beaky male with long snout said. He scratched behind his ear with one foot. "What gifts do you give your lifemates?"

A yellowish gargoyle with wing-membranes under his arms sidled up to the redder, beaky male. "Shiny things? Human tools? Portable screens with moving pictures the humans carry?"

"Ack, leave the lad alone," the grizzled gargoyle muttered, shooing the red and yellow gargoyle away. "Let them take the pups out for a fly." He glared at them. "Unless YOU want to."

The other gargoyles hurried away, making excuses.

Sabine placed her head on Hermione's chest and stared into her face. "Hermioneeeeee!" she pleaded, wriggling against her "mum."

Hermione opened one eye, quickly taking note of the lack of gargoyle elders around. Clever witch. She grabbed Sabine in her talons and snuggled her mercilessly, causing the pup to squirm, squeak, and growl happily.

"Fly?" Sabine pleaded, begging shamelessly. She wrapped her tail around Hermione's wrist and widened her eyes in a cute, insufferably adorable expression.

Suddenly, all of Hermione's tentacles shot up, and she leaped into the air, somehow having disentangled herself from me with the skill of Houdini. She crowed, roaring as she flung herself off the side of the cathedral, and the pups and ran around in circles in confusion before they realised where she had gone. Sabine shot out after her like a bolt, while the others wobbled a little in flight.

I found myself alone, and for once, I didn't like it one bit. I leapt off the side of the building myself, spreading my unwieldy wings to catch the air thermals. She was already far ahead, the pups circling around her as she glided lazily on the wind—her ease on the wind betrayed how comfortable she had become with being a beast.

The Dark Lord had taught me how to "fly" as a reward for betraying Dumbledore by giving him the prophecy, but it was nothing like this. Flying with wings was a wholly new experience, different in every way from magical propulsion. Once I had thought broom flying was truly amazing, then I sprouted real wings and was so busy freaking out on how much of a monster I was, I never got to enjoy them. Then, the Mark prevented any transformation, so the Dark Lord's gift of learning how to fly was all I had.

None of it was as beautiful as this—chasing the she-beast across the skies as she played with over a dozen gargoyle pups in attendance. She lured them high and low, teaching them to corkscrew and barrel through the air. She let them alight on her to catch their breath, and she would have them them chase her. All of this was happening ahead of me—agonisingly out of reach due to my own nubile flying skill.

Thump.

A gargoyle pup was using me a perch, clinging to my back tentacles as he hitched a ride. My tentacles obligingly curved around him like a safety harness. I wondered if any Muggles below were looking up at the sky at just that moment, wondering if they were hallucinating. Or, did the French take such things in style having a better grasp of acceptance as Muggles than ever the magical born did for Muggles?

Hermione glided down over the river we were passing over—the great and expansive Seine that held Paris within its embrace before weaving its way back towards the sea. She skimmed the water with her talons as she flew by.

SNAP.

A fish!

A huge fish wriggled in her claws, but she released it, seemingly encouraging the pups to try it for themselves. The pups struggled to imitate, ending up with river weed, Muggle trash, and, at last, fish. She led them down the river, keeping to the shadows, and the pups stayed with her, seemingly knowing that to separated from their elders was tantamount to death. Or, perhaps it was something more, some bond that I was not aware of. For as surely as she was their true mother, they followed her like a line of baby geese, with only the tired one hitching a ride on me like an afterthought or second best.

Well, I was _done_ with being an afterthought.

I pumped my wings to gain more speed, doing what the little pups were doing—testing everything. I wanted to see exactly what I could do, what I could get away with, and what would probably send me careening into the _Bassin Seine_ face first. The pup on my back seemed to realise this was his time to shine, and he flew around me, showing off his moves and demonstrating each one, waiting for me to follow him. The part of me that desperately wanted to believe I was an adult and should be the one teaching wisely remained quiet. I ate my humble pie and let the little gargoyle pup teach me what it knew as it barreled and cartwheeled through the sky with the skill of hummingbird on concentrated sugar water. Within an hour, I was flying less like a drunken hovercraft that dreamed of becoming a helicopter and more like a member of one of the larger avian species. Most of all, I really didn't want to throw up. That would've been terribly embarrassing.

The pup rrrred at me and seemed to approve of me taking my lessons, and he zoomed off to join his brothers and sisters with Hermione. Feeling less of a horrible example of a flying creature, I chased the pup, using my talons to snatch him up in mid flight and send him tumbling. He squealed and growled, cartwheeling in the air before flying back, ruffling my back tentacles, and then shooting off like a rocket. Cheeky little devil.

Finally, even though my wings ached with all the abuse I had put them through, I caught up with the she-beast at last. Hermione glided effortlessly, even with a collection of tired pups clinging like burrs to her back, seemingly ignoring me. I flew, wingtip to wingtip, the claw of one spur brushing against her velvet wing. The moment we touched, there was the exquisite agony of pleasure—connection, belonging, and home. Never before had such a thing even crossed my mind, not until I had met her. Rather, until I had met the real Hermione, I had not though such a thing possible.

The she-beast in her dark, magnificent, moonlit glory. She who spread her wings across the skies and blotted out the very moon—her teeth like gleaming white daggers, glistening in the dark. How could such a sight be so terrible and yet so beautiful? How could such a sight make me reconsider my own existence as being anything but a relentlessly twisting path that I could eventually meet her, the only other like me in existence?

Oh, Lily. Gladly I would suffer your agonising rejection if it meant I would one day meet _her_. For without you, I would never have given myself to Albus and become what I am. I would not be here, flying wing to wing with this glorious she-beast.

Merlin.

Was this the reason my life had been such a nightmare from the start? Was it to balance that which I would experience now? Here, in this moment of absolute, crystalline clarity? Just the brush of her wing, the very touch of her shadow proved that pleasure and pain were undeniably close.

There was not a single mistake in any of Dumbledore's movements. Every detail was so meticulously planned. He had sent her here out there for Fenrir, but he had also sent _me_. He told neither of us of the other's existence. He knew both of us were trained to ruthlessly take out any and all potential threats to our cover.

He _knew_. He had created us both.

He had trained us both to distrust anyone but him, and even if I hadn't trusted him, who else would I have gone to? Who else would ever trust what I had become?

As the moon came out from behind a cloud, it cast its radiance down upon us, every bit as bright as the sun. That was when I saw it: the glistening of magical runes spreading across Hermione's skin, spanning across her back where they were not easily seen by her. But to me, they were as obvious as a torch in the dark.

"Hermione," I said, breaking the silence of our flight.

Her ear perked in my direction, swivelling to listen. "There is something you must see."

Hermione said nothing, but she gave a low keen, calling the pups to her, and she banked back towards the cathedral. As she shot past me, her tail wrapped around my wrist and caressed my skin, saying what words could not. I followed, not because she was holding something over me or had some power over me that bewitched my mind, no. I followed because I _wanted_ to.

* * *

"How many of them are there?" Hermione asked. She attempted to look at her back, but huffed in exasperation. "It's no good. I turn to look and they instantly disappear."

"Look on mine," I said, turning my back to her. "Perhaps you are not the only one with them."

"May I—" she looked away awkwardly. "Touch you?"

I smiled a little, even though I was turned away from her. "You may touch me whenever you wish."

Her velvet pads brushed delicately against my skin, and I shivered with pleasure.

"They are everywhere, fading in and out across your skin and every curve of your body," she said.

"It is the same on your skin," I said, turning back to her. "Perhaps, what he did on me, he perfected on you. I see hundreds of runes, chains, checks and balances. They are hardly random. All together they look like the scrawlings of a madman, but if you break them up, they are twisted, yet brilliant."

"How long do you think he has been using them to control us?"

"For me," I replied, "I didn't agree to his 'help' until I was sixteen. The change happened to me about a year after and was suppressed by my Mark soon after that." I frowned, remembering something. "Did he ever give you something strange to drink?

Hermione snorted. " _Everything_ he gave me to drink was strange."

I blinked. "Touché."

"Yes, he did, more during my first year with him, not so much after." Hermione scratched her wings with the opposing wing. "At the end of my first year, he started shaving some sort of odd stone into a drink and making me drink it. He said it would stabilise my magic. The next year, I mucked it up by taking Polyjuice to help Harry, and it triggered my transformation."

I frowned at this. "I gave Albus the antidote for that. He requested it even."

Hermione shook her head at me. "My transformation started because of that potion. Because of my mistake. Exposure to Polyjuice before my body was stable—"

"Hermione," I said, my tail moving to corkscrew around hers in a reassuring manner—or what I hoped was a reassuring manner. "You studied for your potions mastery. Think of what happens when you add something to the Polyjuice matrix. The change occurs when a hair, a fibre, or anything else is added to the mutable potion— _think_ , Granger. Think."

She jolted, her tentacles standing up on end. I could almost see the exclamation marks over their tips as they hissed and poked each other. That had been Professor Snape's voice, and she reacted with a sort of instinctual mental convulsion. Whether it was because she had conditioned herself to react that way due to having to pretend to be a student for so long or if it had been ingrained long before her Time-Turning, monster-mutating transformation, I didn't know. The effect was the same.

"The stability matrix solidifies upon the addition of a genetic donation," she said, her voice sounding almost mechanical in nature. "Preventing the alteration of the ingredients in any way. Magical interaction is impossible once the donation is added. Mammal and reptilian genetic donations will bind to the stability matrix. Bacterial, viral, and disease vectors will not."

That's my Hermione. Now, put it all together.

"If any mutagenic vectors exist previous to addition of the potion—" Hermione's head jerked up. All of her tentacles were now standing straight at attention. "The potion neutralises and fails."

Good girl. Now what can we determine from all this?

Hermione growled lowly, her lips pulling back from her teeth. " ** _HE_ ** triggered my transformation after he 'cured' me, making me think all these years that it was all **_MY_** fault!"

She slammed her claws into the stone of the cathedral and scraped gouges into it that would have frightened any stonemason until the end of his days. "And I **_BELIEVED_** him!"

She snarled. "I'm going to rip out his still-beating **_HEART_** and **_EAT IT!_** " She looked ready to spring off the cathedral and do just that, but my shadow and my body were quicker. I wrapped my tail around hers tighter, my arms around her body, and my wings around hers, pinning her against me with all my might.

She was far more used to her bestial body and I was, and I was praying that my own strength would be enough to contain her—that my touch could calm her instant, knee-jerk, highly Gryffindor desire to charge back to Hogwarts and murder the headmaster while children watched as she ate his heart in the middle of the Great Hall.

She struggled fiercely against me.

 ** _"Let me go!_** "

"I can't!"

 ** _"Let go of me, Severus!"_** she screamed.

 _Don't touch me, Sev! Lily screamed in my face._

No, I wouldn't let her ruin her life and have that twinkling old goat win. _NO!_ I held onto her tightly, dodging her blows, taking others directly to the face, taking a few more to my groin in a manner I truly never wished a repeat of, and I entangled all of my tentacles with hers—hoping that my lesser number of them would still keep her from ripping them off and doing what she really, really, _really_ wanted to do.

Suddenly, her flailing against me stopped, and she sagged against me completely, her body trembling as she sobbed into my body. Her hands, which had been beating on me mercilessly only moments before, clung to my fur. Her wings wrapped around my back as she sobbed, beating her head against my chest as she crumpled into me. I wrapped her in my wings, pulling her tail against mine as my tentacles purred to hers. They rubbed against each other, almost as if to apologise for trying to beat the shite out of each other moments before. Our shadows slinked back from where they had apparently been hiding, perhaps worried that she would have forced a battle between us.

"Why would he do that?" she whispered, her voice trembling. "He saved me. I would have—he could have just _asked_. He could have told me! I may have helped him just the same!"

I knew that Hermione didn't really want answers, so I just held her, combing my talons through her almost-sentient curls. I wanted to ask her what had Albus done to save her life. What had been so significant that she'd have submitted to becoming a monster by her own free will to pay up the debt? Life debts were strange creatures. If she truly had one, she would be compelled to make it right—to even the score as it were. She might have even allowed herself to be changed because of it. I know—because I had one with James sodding Potter after her saved my life from Sirius' Black's werewolf 'prank'. He'd used it to keep me from casting truly harmful spells at him after that day. Not that he realised what it was—but **_I_** had. When he finally realised what was keeping me from cursing him, he did what any bloke would do when faced with a life debt from his most hated enemy: he called me up on it and bound me to never talk to Lily or himself ever again.

The night of October 31st—the night when everything went to hell—I'd put myself into a coma trying to defy the debt and send a Patronus to warn Lily when I realised Albus hadn't taken my warning seriously enough. I woke up in St. Mungo's with the Prophet on my bedside table. A part of me wonders to this day, that if I _hadn't_ taken the Mark, would I have been able to save her, or would I have ended up dead too?

Fixed events in time—immutable, unchangeable.

There were other issues, though. Like why had Potter decided staying in the UK was such a good idea. If they _really_ wanted to hide, why not hide somewhere less obvious. Move to the States. Move to Canada, Australia, or sodding South Africa. Something. _ANYTHING_ but the land of Voldemort. I'm sure Tom would have tried searching everywhere too, but at least they would have had a fighting chance—well, more of a fighting chance. A chance.

Albus had heard the prophecy. He could have told the best candidates to beat it and stay in hiding until hell froze over or Voldemort was dead. Take your pick. If even Horace sodding Slughorn could manage to stay off the radar of the Death Eaters, then two bloody Aurors and the supposedly great James Potter could have bleached their hair, or taken Polyjuice, or had Muggle plastic surgery and hidden themselves away somewhere. They could have hidden away somewhere surrounded by Lethifolds and had their own first-rate security system.

It didn't matter now. What happened could not be undone. Me pondering my own stupidity and what I saw as stupidity in others wasn't going to change anything. I had to focus on the now, and now—well, now was currently in my arms weeping inconsolably as though someone had killed her puppy by drowning it right in front of her. Damn everything else, I wanted to be there for her. She was the one that mattered, and there was a part of me that was scared to death that I felt that way so soon after meeting someone.

Not that she was just anyone. Not that she could ever be just anyone to me after knowing her secret. Our _shared_ secret.

I had to wonder, even though Hermione and I were very literally monsters, at least outwardly, if Albus was actually the monster in our messed up relationship. Sure, he didn't have fur, tentacles, and a propensity to want to eat things we didn't like, but—we were monsters. What was _his_ excuse?

Hermione was still whimpering softly against me, and I felt such an overwhelmingly protective surge come over me like nothing I'd ever wanted or needed to protect before. They say Slytherins are all about saving themselves, but all I wanted in that that moment was to save her—shelter her—from the kind of bitter pain I knew all too well: betrayal.

"I'm here," I whispered against her ear, pressing my nose into her mane of curls.

She pulled tighter against me, her ragged breaths finally evening out as she stroked my fur with her talons. "Severus?"

"Hrm?"

"How good are you at reversing Obliviates?"

"How conscious will they be at the time?"

* * *

"I don't know how ya found me, lass, but I'm not takin' some fledgling on to become the next Auror."

"I'm not here for a job," Hermione said.

"I'm not for hire."

"I'm not here to ask you to investigate anyone either," Hermione huffed.

"I can't help you."

"I _know_ you can," Hermione insisted.

"Lass, I don't know you from Joe over there," Moody sighed. "Actually, I know Joe better. I cannot help you."

I could tell Hermione was getting frustrated. She'd gone through all the polite ways to get his help, and none of them worked. As it was, I was getting a vicious arsecramp from sitting behind the opened Prophet, and the waitress hadn't refilled my coffee in about three passes. I was considering tripping her up on her next round, but then everyone's attention would be on me, and the last thing Alastor Moody needed was to catch sight of my face until we had some way of checking his likely knee-jerk reaction to kill me on sight.

I had my wand pressed between the pages of the Prophet as I pretended to mutter it aloud, so very carefully casting the memory unbinding spell counter charm to shake free some of the forcibly blanked memories. It was the best I could do in a pinch without being in front of him, and Hermione was doing her best to keep him within my range.

I had already woven in a rather intricately triggered Muffliato spell to engage if anything Moody said went over the level of polite conversation because I had a feeling that when his memories _did_ come back, his voice would attempt to start the next earthquake or at least attract Rita Skeeter. That was something no one wanted. Ever.

I just hoped the counter charm kicked in soon, because my arms were getting tired, and Hermione's patience was clearly starting to frazzle. Her next step would be truly beastly, and I meant that literally. If she unraveled and went to beast, _I'd_ unravel and go to beast, and there would be two of us being hunted down by a team of very angry Aurors.

"Fifteen," Hermione hissed at Moody, causing him to stop yelling and stare at her in confusion.

"You have fifteen pressure tiles in your house that have to be pressed in a certain order or it triggers a stunner on the floor that takes out anyone who passes by the last tile," Hermione said, crossing her arms in front of her.

Really? _Fifteen?_ Damn, that man was paranoid.

Moody was listening now, his jaw working in disbelief. "How would you be knowin' _that_ , lassie?"

"You. Taught. Me," Hermione answered succinctly. "Your favourite drink is actually sarsaparilla, but put it in your drinking flask so everyone thinks you're drinking Firewhisky all the time. You use it to listen to what people are saying around you."

Moody's eye twitched. Gears were turning, and I could almost hear them.

"You sing _Auld Lang Syne_ when you're in the shower," Hermione said, "and you like blueberry pancakes on Tuesdays because your mam made them every Tuesday morning so you'd do well at school. She used to owl you them every Tuesday morning while you were at Hogwarts."

"I don't know what you're trying to pull—" Moody hissed.

"Your first partner was an old codger named Cupboard who got his name for getting locked in one on his first assignment," Hermione said. "He hated your guts and made you carry all the notebooks for three months before he trusted you to question anyone. He called you 'Notie' for a year before you saved him from being run over by a Muggle car while you were chasing Dickery Todd down the main street of London. You pretended you were all actors late to a show carrying your 'drunk' friend away before the Muggle police showed. He still calls you Carma to this day. Everyone else gets punched in the solar plexus."

Moody had an utterly perplexed look on his face. I hoped that meant the counter-charm was finally working.

Hermione leaned toward Moody. "The last memento from your mam was her opal ring. She hoped you would marry and give it to the woman in your life, but the one woman you truly loved married your childhood friend, and you didn't have the heart to break their happiness, even for a moment. She said it wasn't magical, but you knew better. You know when it found the one your mam would approve of, it would stick to them—just as it had for her."

Hermione put her hand down on the table, the opal ring glistening on her ring finger.

Moody had given Hermione his mam's ring?

"Hermione?" Moody whispered.

"Come on, you cantankerous old tankard," Hermione hissed. " _Heid doon arse up!_ "

Hrm, apparently Moody had also taught Hermione some particularly choice Scottish sayings. That would certainly explain the Portkey trigger word.

"Ya don't have to get rude wi' me, lass!" Moody barked. "What are ya doin' 'ere? I hav'na seen ya in ages."

Emotional Moody's accent just got thicker and thicker.

"You _remember_ me?" Hermione asked.

"Remember ye? You're me damn daughter! Did ya get your head clobbered by a stunner?"

Hermione grabbed Moody in her arms and hugged him tight. "Thank Merlin!"

"Ach!" Moody tsked gruffly. "What was that for? And why do I feel like I've a herd of hippogriffs stampeding in my head?"

Hermione sighed in great relief. "Can we go somewhere a bit less… conspicuous?"

"Sure, and ya can tell me what's been going on that you don't even visit," Alastor muttered.

"I'll do better than that," Hermione promised.

"All right, you know the place then," Alastor said with a quirk of his lip. "Bring your fishin' pole."

Hermione smiled. "See you there."

* * *

I probably should have been used to it, but I had a wand to my neck as I arrived with Hermione to what looked like a very peaceful fishing cottage in the middle of nowhere.

"Snape," Moody snarled, jabbing his wand into my carotid.

"No!" Hermione said pulling the Auror's wand arm down. "He needs to be here."

"Why would I want a Death Eater here?" Moody yelled angrily.

"You trust me, right?" Hermione pleaded.

Moody looked torn. His hatred for me went way back. "He's a ruddy Death Eater, Hermione!"

"No, he's not."

"You can't just decide to not be a Death Eater anymore!" Moody yelled, jerking up my sleeve and sending my buttons flying. The fabric ripped as he yanked it up to expose my left forearm. "Snape's a sodding Death Eater. Look here at his—his—"

Moody dropped his wand arm and took a step back. "I need tea. Don't either of you talk to me until I've made some." He turned and stormed back into the cottage.

"I feel I should thank you for saving my life," I said, rubbing my arm.

Hermione smiled a little. "He's really nice once you get past his gruff exterior," she said.

"Is there any room for nice under all that gruff?" I asked dryly.

Hermione made a face. "There was room for nice under _YOUR_ dour exterior," she pointed out fairly.

I crossed my arms in front of me and scowled. "He owes me new buttons."

Hermione shook her head, using her wand with a silent _Accio_ to present me with a handful of buttons. Some were mine and some were definitely not mine, but they looked like they would make some antique collector very happy.

"He's forgiven," I muttered grumpily.

She placed her palm to my cheek and smiled, and I shuddered in pleasure. I'd forgive him again and again, as long as she continued to do that. I might even be _civil_.

Where had all my well-honed rancor gone?

Her willingness to touch me, however, was breaking down every hardened wall I had built to protect and hide my emotions. The touch and that _look—_ the genuine, unselfish compassion that I couldn't deny. I couldn't throw it back in her face and call her a liar.

I couldn't break her heart, knowing she knew all about my past and I knew hers too. She still touched me. She still wanted to be touched… by _me_.

I just hoped that the infamous Alastor Moody and I could come to some sort of accord and not end up dueling each other on the shore in front of Hermione. I had a feeling if either of us ended up hurt, she would curse whoever was left and then cry herself to sleep for the rest of her life.

Sucking in a deep breath, I followed Hermione to the shore. She handed me a fishing pole and a bucket of bait she had seemingly pulled out of thin air, plopping herself down on the edge of the worn pier. I stared at the hook on the end of the line stupidly, having no idea what to do with it. Oh sure. I knew the general concept, but I didn't know how to attach bait to a hook to save my soul, and knowing how to catch a fish? Hah!

Hermione, seeming to realise I had an issue, silently attached the bait to the hook and went back to fishing.

She caught a few flounder, a bass, one cod, and an eel.

I caught seaweed, a soda can plastic, and a large, tangled up lobster.

Hermione glared at me. "Only you would accidentally catch a bloody _lobster_."

"Language, Granger," I muttered.

"You and my inner voice can have lunch," Hermione muttered, pulling out a cod that wriggled and smacked me in the face.

"And the purpose of the abuse of my face with sea fish?" I groused. "My nose is beaky enough without the impromptu bludgeoning experience."

"Peace offerings for Alastor, so he doesn't go for his wand and kill us both during the processing phase."

I handed my hook back to her. "Bait, please."

She silently rebaited my hook for me.

We were going to need more lobster. Might as well make myself useful.

After my fifth lobster tangled in my line mixed with seaweed and someone's lost golden necklace, Hermione shoved me off the pier and continued fishing.

I bargained my way back onto the pier with an armful of oysters, and she dried me off with a drying and warming charm. She also stole my oysters. Psh. Females.

As I sat next to her with a harrumph, the barely noticeable warmth of her tail sneaked over from under her robes, slithered under mine, wrapping around my waist and leaving a pleasant warmth that made me forget about everything else—even if she did smack me in the face again with a pollock.

By the time Moody had finished brooding himself and his tea, he came out to join us on the pier. He didn't say anything, but he set down Muggle insulated mugs out with hot tea in them, one for each of us. He peered into the live net that Hermione was using to store the spoils of our fishing efforts, and grunted in what might have been in approval. He wrapped his arm around Hermione's shoulder and squeezed her solidly before casting his own line into the water.

He said nothing, just fished with us until the sun started to sink under the horizon. By the time it was dark, I helped him lug the full haul back to the cottage, and he taught me my very first fish-scaling and degutting spells. Hermione busied herself making a seaweed and seafood salad, Moody did some sort of culinary magic on the fish, and I was told to "fix the lobsters and don't ruin 'em." An hour or so later, we all sat down around a worn and apparently well-loved table, eating by candlelight—again saying not a word between us. I kept expecting him to explode and start yelling at me, but it never came.

Alastor got the sea fisherman's fare and the king's bounty with three giant lobsters for himself, but I figured that was my toll in the hopes he wouldn't kill me and Hermione's penance for bringing a "Death Eater home" like someone might bring home a stray dog with the mange _AND_ rabies. She had caught enough fish to feed a small army for a week or at least one family of Weasleys for a night, and by the heavenly smoked smell coming from the second hearth, I had a feeling that therapy was all in the smells.

By the time we had finished eating, cleaning up the table and kitchen, and tending the smoking fire, I was tired enough to think curling up in a ball on the floor was a great idea, and my tired, confined, and cranky tentacles were protesting (albeit silently as to not alert Moody) that their snuggle buddies were over there with Hermione. Every so often, one would sneak a peek under and over my collar like a periscope searching for the Cold War submarine of the enemy and then dart back under cover. It was, I'll admit, a little disconcerting for me. I hadn't had years to get use to them. Even more importantly, they had hadn't really been that active with me before until they'd discovered Hermione—and now they were like incessantly curious children wanting to be "over there" "socialising." Unfortunately they were connected to me, so they weren't going anywhere without me. They were stuck with me, the poor wretches. Fortunately for them, I was learning fast due to Hermione being around. She had done all the hard research, as she was a excellent life study.

As the fire crackle and popped in both hearths, the cottage was a pleasantly warm place, bar far better than what I had become used to in the dungeons of Hogwarts. Even with magical warmth and elf-tended fires there was a chill about the dungeons that never seemed to leave. It was great for storing potions ingredients, but it wasn't so great for storing people that wanted to move around without feeling like old, creaky rocking chair every morning and evening.

Moody plunked a polished stone basin in front of us and pulled out a series of empty vials on a wooden rack. It reminded me of my mum's old spice rack she had until the day my father hocked it with a friend for money for his next beers. "Just put what you know in the vials and I'll go through them," Alastor said grimly, staring into the shifting pseudo-water of his Pensieve. "I'll go through them as you sleep.

Quilts and a pillow slammed into my face, and judging by the oof Hermione made, she was not exempt from the general lack of manners. Strangely, it was almost reassuring that he wasn't bothering with formal manners. He had other things on his mind. The empty vials were as close to an invitation to parlay and a window in which to prove to him what I'd wanted him to know all along: I wasn't what he thought I was.

Don't get me wrong, I had been.

I had been on the train of vengeance against my father and all things Muggle for a long, long time. I'd swallowed the propaganda as well as any of the purebloods had. I'd even—almost—followed them into the damning pits of hell all on my own. Instead, I'd fallen out with Lily and questioned every single action I'd ever made. Then, when I'd finally pulled myself out of the gutter of power-hunger, Albus Dumbledore had offered me a hand and a push right back into what I'd only just narrowly avoided.

He'd also turned me into a creature crafted to suck the magic out of his enemies, only something had gone wrong. I hadn't realised until I'd seen Hermione in all her terrible, monstrous glory what Albus had been trying to do with me. He had wanted me to be like _her_ —and endless reservoir of magic that called to other magic like a Greek siren to the sailors. She called others' magic to her, and it came running to abase itself upon her.

Me? I fed on energy of a different sort, leaving my victims drained of all desire and ability to _move_ —but they could recover. They could remember. And that was not what Albus wanted. He did not want a temporary solution. Though, I did wonder, now that I had seen what Hermione was capable of, what I was truly capable of, had I truly embraced what I was.

Hermione and I set about filling the bottles with memories, starting with young, stupid life choices to the present. I'm sure Hermione's had less in the manner of my stupid life choices, but she had a hefty helping of naive life decisions made as a young, impressionable child and equally manipulated teenager and adult. If any of her "student personna" had a touch of truth to it, she would hold herself guilty as sure as I did for mine.

I didn't envy Moody his future jaunt into memory lane. Hermione and I had done it without the Pensieve, but it had been expansive and exhausting all the same. Moody at least had the ability to pull his head out and have a cuppa in between vials. He'd also have the abridged version— Hermione and I had practically lived each other's entire lives in the span of a few hours. It may not have been a courtship, per se, but I'm almost positive that Lucius never learned that much about Narcissa in all the years he'd known and lived with her. More importantly, would he have married her had he known all the gruesome details of life Narcissa had experienced from the time she first began teething?

Then again—Lucius never had to watch his mate devour the magic off of a werewolf and in the same night teach an entire litter of gargoyle pups how to fish in the Seine. I knew, then and now, that Hermione was capable of being both the most ruthless of magical assassins and the most compassionate, patient mother. It did not matter what she looked like, and who was **_I_** to judge such things? I wasn't exactly gracing the cover of Playwitch, that was for certain. Despite what she was capable of, she was a caring and compassionate soul.

She finished before me, filling all her vials as one would decant wine into glasses, yawning with a flash of her inhuman teeth. She was getting tired, and appearing human was exhausting. She leaned on me sleepily, resting her head against my shoulder as she snuffled my robes.

The scent of her— the touch of her simply leaning against me— it all curled around me, tightening like tendrils around my battered, rusted heart. "Her" couch was over there, but Hermione didn't seem inclined to move. I could feel Moody's eyes upon me, but he also seemed to notice that Hermione was pulling closer to me and entirely of her own volition. Unlike so many times before, he was truly watching me without the white, or rather _black_ elephant in the room: Death Eater.

Fortunately, Moody had already charmed the couch to be wider for our sleeping comfort, so when I used my foot to remove my boots and pull my legs up, moving Hermione against me was no trial of Hercules. She murmured into my chest, pulling my arm around her like a favourite blanket.

I was completely undone.

Never once had anyone used me as comfort. I'd never had to be there for someone in such a capacity. I'd let Lily beat on me for frustration. I'd let her use me as something to lean on while we studied. I'd even let her sprawl on me to sleep off her drunken stupor, once upon a time. But she had never been so casually tender. She had never even allowed me to entertain the notion that I had no right to think I had any word to say with regard to our combined future.

Yet— Hermione said very little, so unlike her swotty student self. She let her actions do the bulk of her talking for her. Had I been even a bit less angry with her for her incessant "tinkering" in Potions class, I would have realised there was so much more to her than she ever let on. I would have seen the delicate touches of a master doing exactly what masters did: tinker, adjust, and improve. But I had been blind to it all, just as Albus had intended, and she had been blind to me as anything but a very curmudgeonly bastard that wanted all of his students to do everything just the way I said.

I pressed my nose into her curls, breathing in the scent of smoking fish, sea air, and her own delicate, earthy scent. I pondered how such a creature could exist, and if she would disappear like smoke with the rising of the morning sun. Would she evaporate like mist off the morning waves? Would I wake only to realise I was trapped in yet another lie?

Please, don't let it be a lie. Don't let this feeling of her pressed against me— willingly— be nothing more than a dream.

One lone tear trailed down my nose, falling on Hermione's face, and I realised Moody was staring at me. I used my sleeve to hurriedly wipe it away, having enough problems in my life than having Moody insult my manhood on top of everything else. But Alastor Moody surprised me yet again by using his wand to transfer the pillows and quilt from the other couch over to us.

Maybe there really was something to Hermione's earlier comment that Moody wasn't as horrible as most people thought. He and I were both trying to figure out the other. We were both struggling to make sense of a world we'd thought was a tree, only to discover it was actually a whale. Up was down, and our enemies were not our enemies anymore.

I closed my eyes, feeling the weight of sand dragging them down.

Please, please, let her be there in the morning.

* * *

-Alastor Moody-

My beast-daughter had returned to me—my bonnie child I had always wanted. I suppose I'd never dreamed my daughter would be quite so ferocious, but when I thought about it, anything else wouldn't have been her.

I knew what she was ever since the very first night she slept under this roof, my sane-place, my refuge from the world. This was where I trained her. This was where I knew she truly trusted me, for in her sleep she transformed into something both terrifying and beautiful to behold. I had teased her about her shadow all the time, calling it "the devil," but I knew the truth. I knew she was something special.

One night, in her sleep, she grasped my hand in her talons— wicked curving claws the length of daggers— and she held my hand as delicately one would their grandmother's doily. She had pressed her monstrous muzzle to my skin and sighed with relief, falling even more deeply into sleep. I never said a thing. She was as close as daughter to me, but I never admitted it to her until she could fling curses and perform counter-curses while diving under furniture and closing grates.

She made me so proud.

I had wanted to show her the world, and on the day she'd passed all of my tests with flying colours, I had planned to take her. But I woke up the next day with her on my doorstep and I didn't remember who she was. I didn't remember how she hummed to herself as she listened to my old Muggle record player that spouted out Scottish folk songs. I didn't remember how she spent hours in the kitchen perfecting the recipe for my mam's blueberry pancakes and made the most perfectly crispy bacon in all of Scotland alongside it. Instead, I had thrown her out on her bum and cursed at her.

I remembered her shocked tears and my thinking her some madwoman. She had left, and I had dismissed it as some ridiculously transparent ploy to fish some story out of old Mad-Eye Moody. I had assumed she had been some agent of that trashy excuse for a newspaper, the Prophet, something along the lines of bloody Rita Skeeter who paid off sources to get just the right dirt and information to stick the knife in deeper.

Somehow, I'd _forgotten_ her.

And as I watched the pair sleep on my old, battered couch, I knew they were one and the same. My bonnie beast curled in the winged embrace of another who seemed to be carved right out of the very same stone. Their wings and tails were entwined together as their slithering tentacles purred and rubbed up against each other, like old friends greeting each other with the customary cheek-kisses. Their talons twitched in sleep, breaths coming in deep intakes and outward sighs. Their shadows, content to be entwined together in the firelight, curled up like hounds near the fire.

They were absolutely terrifying and yet incredibly beautiful at the same time.

I lifted the vials of memories, having gone through all of them over the course of hours, and knew I had been betrayed and deceived. I'd been told that through quite a few Auror conversations that Severus Snape was a Death Eater through and through. James Potter and Sirius Black had both had ample things to say about him and none of it had been good. But after seeing those memories, I saw the other side, now. While they had both taken after each other with hexes and curses, Snape had been an army of one— against a gang.

And at the end of his rope, Albus Dumbledore had conveniently been right there, extending his hand in friendship, offering up his mentorship. And he had been there for Hermione, too, just in time to save her from a rampaging troll. He had bound Severus tightly to him with an Unbreakable Vow and Hermione with a child's blind, selfless devotion. He had molded them both into what he needed: a spy and an assassin.

He had been so very careful, too. He had always directed Hermione to drain her mark and then leave— leaving the killing to simple happenstance. Hermione never had to feel the pain of having her soul shattered, lest that tip her off to the fact that what she was doing was anything less than what _had_ to be done.

Oh, what a sneaky, old manipulative bastard.

Were there others out there? Were these two the only ones he'd tampered with both in mind and body?

Somehow, these two had beaten the odds. Dumbledore had sent them to the same place, knowing that each of them would do everything they could to preserve their cover, only something had gone wrong. Before they could tear each other to pieces, their shadows had touched, and Hermione and Severus had connected in exactly the way the old man didn't want.

They found a home in each other. Hermione had broken Severus' shackles, devoured the twisted magic that bound him to Voldemort, drank in his Vow, and set him free. And his wee bonnie beast-daughter had found something even greater in doing so: someone who understood her.

Someone who could love her.

While I was no expert on love, I could read people pretty well when I wasn't blinding myself with ingrained prejudices. I saw the look on his face when she touched him and the raw emotion he could barely contain. The curve of his wings around her as he pressed his muzzle against hers— even in sleep they remained entwined.

A soft rustling caught my attention, and the little cargo-stowaway that had crawled out of Hermione's beaded bag snatched a fish from the hearth and dragged it back into the furry pileup. A young gargoyle pup wriggled between the two sleeping adults, yawned, munched on his prize a little, stretched his little wings just so, and went fast asleep. I had to hand it to the little guy, he knew how to pick safe places and times to come out and explore. At least here he wouldn't have wizards or witches trying to catch him and raise him to guard their stuff.

I wondered how long Snape and Hermione would be safe. There was no doubt that Dumbledore had set something in motion hoping that either or both of them would take each other out, but was that the true plan? If so, what did he have planned once they were dead? Would he craft another? And what of Potter, Weasley times two? They were out trying to save the world with just three heads between them probably bickering like a three headed dog over which way to go and how to go about it.

I'd seen those three at the Order Meetings— or rather I'd seen them skulking around listening in on the Order Meetings during the holidays. I'd also had to mop up the mess they caused on a number of occasions. The death of Sirius Black was perhaps the hardest on Potter and the most significant cock-up that had happened. The boy had a vision of his godfather's death and had rushed off to save him— only it hadn't gone remotely well.

The boy had apparently assembled what had become known as "Dumbledore's Army" to train each other the spells that Madam Umbridge would not. That loyal crew joined him on invading the Department of Mysteries to "save Sirius," only Sirius hadn't been there. Sirius had been back at 12 Grimmauld Place, giving his hippogriff a bath. Thanks to one botch after another, not only did quite a few people end up permanent residents of St Mungo's, but Sirius Black was blasted into the Veil-gate.

And now they were off saving the world with toothpicks and licorice whips for all I knew. No one knew— not the Weasleys. Molly was practically at Death's door with worry for her "baby girl" that just had to go be a hero with her brother and Potter. They had left in the night, having cleared the pantry of all the food and leaving no forwarding address.

They had vanished.

Perhaps, I should have suspected something when Dumbledore seemed so calm about the matter. Then again, Albus was calm all the time. Unnaturally so. But if Hermione's memories— and Snape's for that matter— were to be believed, then the reason Potter and company were having any chance at all was because Hermione was picking the Death Eaters off one by one and Snape was spying on the Dark Lord from within.

He was— not anymore.

There was no way he was going back into that viper's nest without the Mark, and I don't think he'd want to leave Hermione alone if a hundred wizards had him at wand point. He's already experienced traumatising loss once, and he had far more to lose now. You could see it in his eyes. You could see it in how they slept curved around each other like monstrous kittens sharing the same basket.

Monstrous magic-luring, energy-sucking beast-kittens.

I fingered the vials of memories, contemplating what to do with them. There was a really good chance that these memories would be vital for the evidence if it ever came up in a trial. That depending on being able to actually apprehend Dumbledore— the man who was notoriously hard to catch. He could smell trouble coming his way like no other.

I shrank all the bottles and put them in a case, filled the case with hardening foam thanks to a charm picked up from the shipping department, and closed the lid, using magic to seal the box so there was no seam at all. I pulled a stone away from the floor, placed the box in, moved the stone back, patched the crack up with my wand, and threw a rug over it. There— at least that was dealt with, and it was far easier than figuring out what to do with one trussed up werewolf that had shown up hog-tied on my work desk.

It had taken us hours to figure out it was really Fenrir Greyback— because it was a full moon night and he wasn't furry and slavering. It had taken us a few more to realise that Greyback didn't have a lick of magic left in him. Not a bit. Not even the curse that made him a werewolf. It was all gone. Oh we'd found others without magic before him—Death Eaters and Dark magicusers all— but he had been the first werewolf. He had been the first ex-werewolf in all history, as far as I knew. Amelia might know better, she and her Unspeakables, but bringing her in would require consent on Hermione and Snape's part due to the inevitable questions.

There were other things that were going to have to happen before any big reveals were done— evacuating Hermione's Muggle parents to a safe place was one, and determining if Snape had any relatives anyone could use against him was another. It was essential, or Dumbledore and Voldemort would have a way to force them into doing what they wanted. The last thing we needed was to give Dumbledore or Voldemort something else to use.

Rage simmered in my gut— the kind that would get old Mad-eye in trouble if he wasn't careful. I had to dance on eggshells as it was. People thought I was a paranoid and overly bull-dog as it was. It didn't matter if I was right. My wrath could wait. If anyone had the right to rip someone apart tendon by tendon it was the two on my couch, and they were ahead of me in the line by a good mile and then some. Still, Dumbledore had messed with MY family as well as me, and I had quite a few unkind things to say about it.

Squish.

I looked down. A gargoyle pup had put half a smoked fish on my toe and looked up at me. He nosed it, clearly offering it up to me, cocking his head to the side like the Nipper, the dog who listened to his master's voice over the gramophone. I knew gargoyles were far more intelligent than most gave them credit for, but at that moment he looked so much like an eager to please canine pup that I had to laugh.

"Come on up then," I invited, patting my lap.

He eagerly crawled up into my lap and snuggled up against me. I looked over to the couch pileup, and realised that this was not the same pup.

"Two stowaways, hrm?" I asked, rubbing its ears. He tugged the afghan up over my lap and burrowed between my arm and chest, yawning into my face with a soft whining squeak. All my plans to plot the next steps went sliding away into the night as the soft, cuddling warmth of the gargoyle pup dragged my consciousness under.

* * *

I woke the smell of my mam's pancakes and opened my eyes seeing Hermione tending a large batter bowl as three gargoyle pups watched attentively as they perched on the side of the kitchen counter. Three? Where had the third one come from? How many gargoyle pups were in that bag of hers?

Pop.

Another gargoyle pup appeared, hovering over the grill, and a large, black wing moved it over to perch with the others. Severus gave them a low, warning growl, and they all lined up and straightened up at attention. Hermione leaned over his shoulder, wrapping her wings around his waist and snuffling his neck, and the larger male beast froze in place, eyes half-lidded in pleasure. He shook it off after a while, flipping the pancakes into a pile on a platter.

"You knew," Hermione said quietly, passing a platter over to the pups. "Take this to your elder," she said. " _Allez!_ "

The pups scrambled to hold the platter and they pumped their wings together to bring the platter of pancakes, fruit, and coffee over to me, plunking it down over my lap as they growled and squeaked at each other in what sounded like some sort of French.

One pup seemed to win the argument and wedged her head under my arm and snuggled into my side as she stared up at me, paws batting at my arm to show off her exposed belly. I tried to resist the compulsion, but it was too late. I was scratching her belly within seconds, and she growled happily, wriggling against me.

"Now you've done it," Hermione chuckled. "You get to explain to Bastion why she's sneaking off to get her belly rubbed and refuses to leave. I refuse to get involved."

I sighed, knowing from the memories that that particular conversation was going to be 'fun'." "Aye, lassie, I knew," I confessed, changing the subject.

"How long?"

"Since you first fell asleep here," I recalled.

Hermione was quiet, allowing the sounds of sizzling bacon and pancakes to fill the silence. I took that moment to nibble on the bacon, and my eyes widened. It was smoked maple bacon with a hint of pepper. Good gods, and it was perfectly crispy. Where had she found that?

Severus filled a line of small plates with pancakes, bacon, and eggs, and made sure each pup had one, grunting as they licked his face before flying off to guard their prize like tiny dragons on their hoard. Each found a different place to perch and devour their spoils.

"How did they find you?" I asked, trying not to talk with my mouth full, but damn it it wasn't hard.

"They Marked me when I crashed into the rookery," Hermione said. "They alway know where I am because I'm their "mum". They can always find each other too. Their rookery brothers and sisters share the same bond. Bastion says it ensures they they can rely on each other as they grow up. It lasts a lifetime."

I swallowed hard. "You're their mam?"

Hermione grinned toothily, her fangs glinting. "Right time, right place— I was the first big, winged, warm female they saw, and they infected me with this irresistible desire to brood over them and keep them under my wings for hours before the real gargoyle parents found me. That was an interesting evening."

"You don't do anything normal, do you, lass?" I mused.

"I'm not sure I'd know what normal was," Hermione replied. "This is my normal," she said, wrapping her tail around Severus' like a corkscrew. "I like it, at least now that I have a better idea of who I can trust."

Severus stiffened over the grill, pancake flipper still, and Hermione leaned into him, her tentacles hissing and rubbing against his.

"That means you," Hermione said gently, seeming to understand that his opinion of himself was helpfully molded into paranoia thanks to people like me— that had called him unredeemable and corrupt for years upon years.

Severus relaxed into her, eyes losing the strangely terrified look.

It was odd how clearly I saw such things now— when only a day before I would have been putting my wand to this throat and dragging him to Azkaban for even looking at me— or at her. Now, however, my memory of this place would be imprinted with the image of my beast-daughter and her equally beastly suitor and a handful of eager gargoyle pups guarding their bacon, eggs, and pancakes. My memories of the two fishing out on the pier as they gave me "space" to sort things out in my head were warm and positive. I'd watched him pull up trash and lobsters, and her pull up fish after fish. She had shoved him into the water for his luck, and he had come back with arms full of oysters to placate her. She'd accepted him back into her graces and under her wing, and they had continued to fish until I decided to get over it and join them. That's when I'd realised that everything I'd been told about Severus Snape were half-truths and blatant lies.

The truth was, I'd had a rebellious phase at Hogwarts. I'd been the trouble-maker that my teachers often had to owl home about. Sometimes there was proof, and sometimes there wasn't, but Dumbledore always suspected I was the one transfiguring other people's stuff into goblets and then swapping them around, causing people to accuse others of stealing their stuff.

Headmaster Dippet thought I was destined to be in Azkaban straight out of Hogwarts… until a gang of real Dark wizards cornered me in Knockturn Alley and tortured me as they stripped me of every arrogant thought I'd ever had about being a badass. I'd refocused my efforts, changed my studies, and passed every N.E.W.T. with O or better— all to become an Auror. My tormentors had graduated to become bonafide Dark wizards and witches, and I sent them to Azkaban (may they rot there until their bones adorn the floors) catching them doing to someone else what they had done to me.

When I thought about it, I realised that my fate could have easily gone the other way. I could have turned all that anger into something Dark and dangerous. The thing was, Snape could have easily been a terrifying Dark Wizard, but he pulled himself back from the brink— only to have Albus Dumbledore take him by the hand, turn him into a monster, and then throw him back in with the bloody Death Eaters.

It was no wonder he drank in the smile of Hermione like it was the wellspring of Life itself. I could easily see why Hermione saw so much in him—he had the potential to be her sworn enemy, but he had the will and the strength to keep himself together while corruption ran rampant all around him. Power dangled at the end of a branch, taunting him at every step, but did not take it.

I wondered why Snape was piling up more pancakes and eggs when a half-dozen more gargoyle pups popped out of nothingness and landed on the counter, their little wings beating frantically as they scrambled to hold on. Hermione snuffled each one, perhaps to make sure who each one was, and gave each a plate of their own. The pups squealed and growled happily, flying off with their breakfast, but not before they cooed and rubbed up against both Hermione and Severus and every single tentacle they had between them. Now _that_ was manners.

My cottage was infested with gargoyle pups. I couldn't help but grin from ear to ear. Some wizards would put themselves in the poorhouse just to get their hands on one gargoyle of any age. I knew that many would sell their children for a young one. And here I was with a cottage full of them as they munched on my mam's famous blueberry pancakes.

Maybe it was the pancakes. Thanks, mam.

To my surprise, each pup brought their plates back to the sink, carefully placing it into the soapy water. The magical scrubber sprang to life— one of the few things I paid through the teeth for the spell— and dutifully cleaned each plate off and nudged it into the drying rack. That clever bit of magic had been custom-crafted by a rather famous witch who had wanted to make kitchen chores less time-consuming for the everyday family. It had come in a set with spells to sharpen knives, clean the counters, walls, and windows in case something "bad" happened during the cooking, and a custom scaling and gutting spell for people like me that liked to fish, cook fish, and eat fish but not scale and gut fish. Just about every house had at least one of her spells enchanting their kitchen, and she had retired early to French Guiana. Her spells were now standard fare in culinary witch and wizard curriculums worldwide, but what only the people like me who paid through the teeth for them back in the day, she would often owl custom spell adjustments and tweaks as she improved on her original spells completely free of charge— while she made the rest of the world pay through the teeth for them.

Maybe Severus could figure out how to sell his method for pier-fishing lobsters— something I was pretty sure no one had figured out yet— and make himself a pretty pile of galleons. Accio'ing seafood was severely frowned on after one Amnesio Funderkins attempted to do that with sea urchins and bled to death under a ton of not-so-harmless spiked echinoderms. It probably wouldn't have been fatal if he hadn't been knocked out by the rain of sea-dwelling hedgehogs, but the laws went into effect soon after the tale of his humiliating death went global.

I heard that some idiot had tried to Accio his riding broom and wasn't specific enough. He ended up impaled by about thousand brooms, magical, non-magical, modern, and not so much. This should be a lesson to people— don't ever casually Accio _any_ thing.

Only after everyone had been fed did Hermione and Severus take their own plates and sit down on the couch to eat. Hermione sent out a Patronus, saying that Bastion probably knew what his little monsters were up to, but she'd rather be safe than sorry. All of the gargoyles disappearing from Notre Dame was not a story anyone wanted to see on the front pages of the Parisian tabloids.

The pancakes disappeared quickly, as I knew they would, and it seemed as though Hermione's tentacles were happily stuffing pieces of them into Severus' maw while his were dutifully feeding Hermione pieces of fruit. It was so terribly innocent and yet surreal considering they looked like Lovecraftian nightmares that I had to chuckle a little.

As soon as "their elders" were done eating, all the pups came crawling up to snuggle, making me wonder what my mam would have thought of the image if she could only have seen

"Well, I know that our first priority once the pups return home is to secure your parents somewhere safe," I said. "Do you have any family you need to move, Severus?"

Severus' muzzle wrinkled as his lips pulled back from his teeth. "My father took his rage out on my mother one too many times," he said grimly. "She did not survive it. My bastard of a father, however, lived to remarry. I hear they truly deserve each other."

"I—" I struggled for words. "I'm sorry, Severus."

The "larger" beast shook his head. "Don't be. I've had many years to come to terms with my mother's passing. She did what she thought best to ensure I finished my education, and I am glad she never had to learn the truth of what her bargain with Albus truly meant."

I couldn't help but feel many of us had unwittingly "helped" to push Severus to the edge. Some things were also setting off my mental alarm bells. Albus had arranged for Severus' entire education, which mean he had been just waiting for him to make one horrible mistake after another. He was just one step ahead of everyone. Well, that meant we had to make a detour to the Department of Mysteries A.S.A.P. With all this paranoia and the need to move out Hermione's biological parents without drawing any unwanted attention, we were going to need to see Amelia Bones.

"How do you feel about ferrets?" I said after some silence.

Two beastly eyebrows lifted in synchronisation as about a dozen gargoyle pups cocked their heads and said, "Rrrrr?"

* * *

As I stepped off the elevator into the DoM, a gryphon peered at me as stepped up. There were four doors one could possibly go through, but there was also the "un-door" that only a few knew about that was at the back of the gryphon's nest. The gryphon had been a new arrival after Potter broke into the DoM, got his godfather murdered, sent about twenty-some kids to Mungo's, broke into a tank of dangerous brains, and a host of other things that no one had ever thought anyone could _do_ , let alone a bunch of kids.

Amelia and I had been trying to tell the ruddy blowhards that made the decisions at the Ministry that there needed to be more and better security down here that didn't rely solely on people. Why? People could be bribed or threatened. People did have to use the restroom and sleep eventually. People were habitual creatures. The list went on.

Gryphons and the like, however, slept with both ears open and one eye open. Dragons could sense any and everything within the length of a Quidditch pitch or so from where they were, even in their sleep. They were both the kind of creatures that made their lives guarding things. Amelia had wanted to hire in some gargoyles, but the higher-ups had said it was too much effort to set up. Gargoyles needed living areas, family areas, a rookery, and more space. That and the greater sentient-gargoyles did not appreciate being treated like trainable beasts. They needed things to guard, they preferred tasty food over gruel, and they actually rather enjoyed reading. Amelia and I thought it was an excellent idea, but no one took us up on it. Then, Potter happened—

Now we had a gryphon guarding the main path in, but it was a bandage if anything. Gryphons and dragons didn't care about evil intent or Dark magic as much as they guarded every _thing_ from every _one_. Gargoyles were proficient at sensing both evil intent and Dark magic. Again… it seemed bloody _obvious_ to Amelia and myself why getting a nice family of gargoyles to move in would be a really great idea™.

The guard gryphon stared at me. There was a very distinct line mosiac that clearly demarcated where said gryphon would tear off your face if you passed it. No blood stains today. That was an improvement.

I placed my hand on the orb just before the "line of imminent doom."

"Oh, hello there, Alastor," Amelia's voice said cheerily. "What's that in your hands, dear?"

I held up the cage where two highly disgruntled-looking black ferrets stared out through the bars.

"Alastor, have you been a bad boy again?" she sighed. A scan of magic went over us. "Oh my. This had _better_ be good!"

"Better than good," I promised.

"Veruca, let them through," Amelia said, and the clearly annoyed gryphon laid her head down on her paws and continued to glower.

I walked over the line and past the gryphon, into the lair, and straight to the door in the back. I placed my hand on the door, sang the first verse of Bluebells of Scotland, and pushed in the door.

Amelia was waiting on the other side of the door with a bemused expression. "Sorry about that, love. You know how it is. One child breaks into the DoM and gets people killed, and suddenly we have a gryphon guarding the front entrance. If Umbridge had her way, we wouldn't have anyone guarding the front entrance because 'It's not like you people actually _do_ anything worthwhile anyway'."

My eyebrow twitched.

"Come, come," Amelia said. "The debriefing room is free, and I made fresh tea. Samuel even brought out fresh biccies, including those shortbread biscuits you like so much."

Good man, that Samuel. By the way, you still owe me for saving your arse from that Peruvian Vanishing Flu. Good thing my mam knew how to counter every kind of oddball disease a wizard could possibly get. I swear it was so I couldn't say I didn't want to go to school on a given day because I had a disease.

 _"Alastor, you do not have the South African Whooping Wizard Pox."_

 _"But, mam! I have the pink polkadots and everything!"_

 _"Drink your orange juice, wash your face, and get ready for school."_

To be fair, Poppy Pomfrey didn't believe me either.

We walked into the debriefing room and closed the door. Amelia hit the "You had better be dying if you dare come in here without knocking first" button, and a panel flipped on the outside of the door to read pretty much the same thing. She sat down in the comfy chair at the head of the table, folding her hands in a way that made me think of Madam Pince watching and waiting for me to touch something I wasn't supposed to. I undid the latch on the cage, and Hermione and Severus didn't move.

I stared.

They stared back.

I waited.

They still didn't move.

I picked up the cage and shook them out, muttering, "Merlin help me that I don't curse you right here in front of God and everyone, young lady."

Well, at least their expressions had changed from disgruntled to what passed for ferret-amusement. I waved my wand over them, and they unfolded like the great demon-beast from the Muggle movie Fantasia. Their wings touched the sides of the room, crumpling as they struggled to fit. Their tentacles hissed in relief as they unkinked themselves from their tangled mass. Elongated snouts opened wide to expose glistening, dagger teeth.

Severus set down a tray of cinnamon rolls as Hermione set down a tray of fruit tarts.

"We brought snacks!" Hermione said cheerily.

Amelia, bless her, shakily poured herself some coffee from the nearby carafe, drank it black, set the cup down, and took a few deep breaths.

"I'm going to need more tea," she said after a long silence. "And a Pensieve."

"Oh good," I said, pulling out the box of filed memories. "I have just the thing."

* * *

"Amazing!"

"Amazing!"

Hermione beat her head against Severus as the Unspeakables examined them from head to toe. Severus' multiple tails tried to throttle the wizard poking Hermione over and over, and Hermione's tentacles were hissing in annoyance as someone tried to figure out how one of them ticked. A witch was measuring the wings, touching the fur, peering at the scales, and even measuring the claws.

It was all I could do to keep my daughter from rampaging the examination room— or worse, having Snape do it on her behalf— by giving her her favourite white chocolate bar with toffee chips in it. She munched on it dutifully, even sharing a little with Severus, trying to keep her body under control. It wasn't quite working, as some of her integrated parts were sentient on their own, so they did what they wanted— like paralysing some poor bloke as the shadows inspected _him_ instead. One tentacle apparently got so brassed off that it mutated, formed into an eel-like mouth and bite one wizard on the nose.

I really tried not to laugh.

Amelia was beginning to grow on them due to their ability to make a stunning café latte, and the shadows melted her with what was apparently the "best goddamned backrub of her life." It must have been great. Amelia wasn't one to curse, otherwise.

After hours of poking, prodding, measuring, collecting of samples, photos, anatomical drawings, random appendage drawings, fur samples, slime samples, tentacle scrapings, tentacle bites, and a myriad of other tests, Amelia handed them their very own magical identification collar. A fine band of goblin silver contained a complicated laundry list of identification enchantments that declared their status as the newest members of the Unspeakables, Magical Creatures Division XXXXXX. Any more Xs and they would have to change the size of their logo.

They were classified as extremely dangerous and had enough clearance that even the Minister For Magic wouldn't know they existed save for whatever cover story they made up for them. Deep cover agents and the like that served anywhere in Wizarding society or Muggle— watching the watchers. I was, technically, Amelia's watcher in the Auror Department. I was officially a grumpy malcontent with five big helpings of paranoia thrown in. Thing was, I was a grumpy malcontent with five big helpings of paranoid thrown in, but I was also one of Amelia's agents. I wasn't in the Magical Creatures Division, thanks to be human (thank you!), but I was under deep cover in the double zero agents.

Some drunken idiot had found out about us— at least in name— and thought it would make a great spy movie in the Muggle world and sodding retired so rich, even his house-elves had house-elves. On the bright side, everyone though we were fictitious, which only helped our cover. Who knew?

We also had a bloke down in inventions that looked suspiciously like Agent Q and had a personality to match. Amelia, of course, was Agent M with a feminine flair, and I'm not even going into what my double 0 number was. That was the human-side of the DoM, however. Hermione and Severus were now unofficially "dead" and officially on the payroll. What did that mean?

Hermione's parents got a free evacuation from England, a name change, and free moving help to Australia under the cover names Wendell and Monica Wilkins. I told Amelia that she needed to fire the idiot that came up with those names. They had to live with themselves, after all. Who wants to wake up in the morning calling themselves Wendell and Monica Wilkins? Her reply was, if they didn't like their name, neither would the Death Eaters and Dumbledore.

Death Eaters and Dumbledore. Now there was something I never thought I'd hear in the same sentence.

Hermione and Severus got their customary Level XXXXXX dna-bound situational glamour potion— the highest level of top-secret potionwork in the world. What did all that mumbo-gumbo mean? They could walk into a Muggle supermarket and look ordinary. They could sit in a flock of penguins and look like penguins. Wherever they were, they would blend in. They would look so mundane and ordinary that no one would remember them being there or be able to tell them what they looked like. So even on a bad-tentacle day, Hermione and Severus wouldn't be sending the Muggle world on fire with tabloids about radioactive monsters terrorising Tokyo and downtown London. They, could, as always, actually make a physical shift, but the potion was standard for all the Magical Creature XXXXXX levels clearances. It just wasn't worth the risk to be caught without it.

Hermione and Severus were agents 42 and 47 (43 through 46 actually belonged to the same agent who had four heads, and the original 42 had given up his number because he believed it was cursed to make him a target for alien abductions) respectively, and all the others were out on assignment. We had a thunderbird patrolling the west coast of British Columbia, kitsune agents in Japan, a few leviathans that patrolled the deep seas and guarded the area Muggles knew as "the Bermuda Triangle," and the list went on. Some of them were magical-creature Animagi, that officially "weren't possible" according to normal Wizarding knowledge, and some were products of experimentation or accidents. Agent McBride was our only kelpie agent— who had been unfortunately to be caught in a very bad duel between two wizards, their horses, and some potion that was supposed to help re-stock the local pond. He wasn't sure what happened— and the wizards responsible were in no condition to tell anyone what was in the cauldron, as they had been transformed into schools of pond fish. By the time anyone realised what had happened, they'd already disappeared into the vast lake.

Well, their dream of restocking the pond had come to fruition, but it probably wasn't quite the way they had intended, though I did wonder if they were slowly eaten by the local populace of that little town…

This is why there are Aurors, ladies and gentleman. Sure, we mainly go after Dark wizards and witches, but they are more likely to turn someone into a school of fish on _purpose._ That being said, we also realise that some common, everyday wizards and witches can do some really scary shite to each other. It's also why we put traces on minors because if anyone was going to accidently do something horrible with magic tied to their emotional instability, it was going to be a kid. Personally, I'd rather deal with a Dark wizard trying their best to kill me than a room full of hot-headed, hormonal teenagers with wands. I don't get paid enough to deal with kids.

Amelia looked relieved that everything was on paper, filed, recorded, and official. If and when anything would involve Dumbledore in the future, everything had to be just right. The man ran the equivalent to his own Country at Hogwarts, and bringing him under suspicion would be just as hard as trying to to get any accusation to stick on him. The vials of memories would help, but he might claim they were tampered with, and getting them redrawn and rechecked would buy him time to do whatever he needed to do to wriggle free. There was also the matter of what his ultimate goal was. No one knew but Dumbledore himself. Severus and Hermione had been kept carefully ignorant of each other's existence for years, and they were trained to notice everything else.

Whatever influence the man had— it was more far-reaching than most. We had to be careful to not underestimate him. He had purposefully set out to craft magical assassins out of mere children, students whose lives had been entrusted to his care. If that didn't paint a grim enough picture of the man, then nothing would. The problem was making anyone believe he actually _did_ it.

Some of Hermione's tentacles were burbling in their own mug of coffee, apparently trying to caffeinate themselves via osmosis. It was probably a good thing that we were set to move her parents, but first Hermione had the hard job of informing her parents that their lives were in grave danger.

Hermione had completely curled up in Severus' lap, burrowing under his wings to shut out the world. He growled softly, sending the few remaining wizards scrambling to vacate, leaving the room blissfully quiet. First things first. Those two had to decide what kind of living arrangements they needed inside the DoM: separate quarters or shared.

* * *

-Severus-

I'd never had a warm place to live, save in the summer when it was insufferably hot. Even when I was at Hogwarts, I was in the Slytherin dorms, under the lake where it was damp and cold often, and even the elf-tended fires didn't take the fact we were underground and underwater away.

Now, deep in the bowels of the DoM, I had my first living quarters that was pleasantly warm. Amelia had assigned us shared lodging, which gave us a shared livingroom and kitchen, study, and two baths as well as two separate bedrooms. It was the standard for married couples and permanent partners, which was our lot. Like it or not, we were two peas in a pod. Thanks to Hermione's long list of masteries as well as my own, we scored ourselves a potions laboratory and a spell crafting workshop, which was another word for "place to create and fling spells without having to worry about blowing up your living space."

Our front door lead out into a vast underground arboretum and underground spring, and when you looked out the window it actually looked over it. It seemed extremely vast, far larger than I would've expected. Then again, as I understood it, few knew this place existed. It was a secret world trapped in a secret world.

Arbormancers had carved a full, natural ecosystem underground. The air was fresh if not fresher than we had above ground, and the water was teeming with life. Far above, crevices opened their mouths to the underground forest, and I knew that each one contained one of the few dragon-agents of the Magical Creature XXXXXX division. This entire place was created as a safe haven for those who made up the high tiers of the Department of Mysteries, and many of them never left due to safety concerns.

Many of the jobs require the utmost in security, and that meant being isolated from the very world they worked to keep safe. Case in point was one Dolores Umbridge and Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge. While the elected officials came and went as per usual, the DoM continued on, their work too important for electoral drama and power plays. Some of the people here had been "killed" during the war and had retreated to live here permanently— one of which was Amelia Bones herself. When she and her family had been attacked and left for dead, they had used the opportunity to flee underground.

Truth be told, this "little" residence was much larger than Spinner's End, and far more well kept. It had a magical vibration, much like Hogwarts, but it felt natural. Each residence had their own house-elf or cave-elf as it were, and food and supply orders came in weekly. The entire place was under a hundred or more complex wardings, and the only things that could come and go were the authorised and those creatures who innately defied such things.

 ** _Pop_**.

Gargoyle pups, for instance. And house-elves.

Sabine was leading the other pups around the new place, sniffing and examining everything. And— something I had no idea they did— memorised where everything was. Hermione said it was a gargoyle thing. You can't protect what you don't know is out of place, so they did their best to know where everything was.

Even at their young age, their guarding instincts were already in high gear. They wanted to know what everything did, where everything was, and if they were on the pre-approved list.

Alastor was buried under a dozen sleepy pups, his arms spread-eagle as he sank into the sofa. The rest were still exploring, and I had a feeling they'd know the place better than me in far shorter a time frame. Amelia had done a little celebratory dance upon discovering the pups, or, rather, as _she_ was discovered by _them_. To prevent a DoM panic, all of them were given identification collars so if they ported in looking for Hermione and Severus, no one would think that security had been breached and put the place on lockdown.

Amelia was privately very smug that at long last the DoM had resident gargoyles. She was hoping, none too privately, that they would proceed to make themselves very much at home and guard the entire place as they grew older. Only time would tell. I made the mistake of mentioning that they would probably stick around as long as Hermione did, and Amelia got a sly, Slytherin cunning expression on her face.

I realised with some awkwardness that I really didn't have anything left at Hogwarts or Spinner's End that was irreplaceable, but the official story was they had found me wandering the forests of Wales bereft of my magic and had to Obliviate me and send me to some foreign country as a Muggle. That made me second to useless for both Voldemort and Dumbledore, and it gave the Aurors an excuse to liberate my stuff from Hogwarts and Spinner's End— all of which had shown up in shrunken boxes in the middle of our shared quarters. There was one slight difference.

All the stuff had been lovingly restored to mint condition with the kind of detail I had only wished I had the time and money to restore back in the day. I had to admit that it was good to see some of it again after I had convinced myself I didn't need to. Human reasoning is quirky like that.

Bastion and a few of the other gargoyle elders had shown up to check out how "safe" the pups were, but I had the feeling they were checking to make sure Hermione was handling her rather tenacious bond with the pups okay rather than making sure she was a "safe mum." I don't think _anyone_ who saw how patient and nurturing she was with her adopted brood could ever believe her anything less than an outstanding mum material. I wondered which of her parents she took after or if she had become that way from her own experience.

Hermione, of course, blamed it on the magical bond, but I think it was all a part of her right from the start. If anything, it gave her an outlet for all of that compassion. It was amazing to feel how genuine it was and how seemingly endless. Even despite what she had been created for, she had warmth to spare. How could I not admire that?

Hermione's items arrived after Aurors "investigated a student disappearance" that they had been "tipped off" about. Dumbledore had, they reported, seemed extremely irritated and completely dismissive of their concerns, claiming that she had most likely decided to "join her friends" Potter, Weasel, and the Weaselette. He didn't use those terms _exactly_ , but the gist was pretty much the same.

Judging by the deeply concerned look Minerva had given the Aurors (or so they had said) when she had heard Albus' reasoning, there was at least one person at Hogwarts who was harbouring growing suspicions about one Albus Dumbledore. They had gathered all of Hermione's things to record them, examine them, and then filter them back to the family, closing the door on Dumbledore's desire to get any of it back. If he truly wanted to, it was hard to say for certain.

According to the official interviews with the student body, everyone agreed on one thing: Hermione had no friends that weren't teachers. She notoriously gave in when Harry, Ron, and Ginny whined that they needed homework help, but it was very clear that she was never a part of their group. She was most emphatically not welcome as anything more than a source of good grades.

Hell, even ** _I_** was welcome at the sodding Death Eater meetings as part of the group. Not that I really wanted to be there, ever.

I was stricken, again, at how compassionate she was despite not being welcome amongst her supposed peers. First, it had probably been true social awkwardness, but later it had been because she was an adult trapped in the role of a teenager. While I had had the lion's share of schoolyard bullying, she had had the dragon's share of cold ostracisation. Yet, she retained such a well of compassion inside her; she even had warmth for _me_. How was that even possible?

A part of my mind was screaming at me not to sabotage the great gift I was being given. It implored me not to hurt her, push her away, or anything else I would typically do if someone— _anyone—_ tried to get close to me before. This was not before. That was no longer… me.

This— having a job where they actually took care of me, having a partner I knew I could trust with my life, and having a nice place to call my own. This was terribly new, foreign, and painfully wondrous. I hadn't believed I would ever be able to trust someone with my most jealously guarded secret: my true self. I had once thought I would have been possible with Lily, my friend since childhood, but it had become clear that while she knew more than most about me and my homelife, she hadn't really known _me_. Then again, maybe I hadn't really known her either. I had thought if she could forgive someone like James Potter for everything he had done both to her and to me, then surely she could have forgiven me.

I couldn't have been more wrong.

"Severus!" Hermione cried from nearby. "Did you see this?"

I shook off my heavy nostalgia and rushed forward, expecting a broken dish or a dead mouse or anything that would equal tragedy in a new home.

"Our library has been fully stocked!" Hermione practically squealed, bouncing up on the pads of her paws. Her wings were trembling with sheer excitement, and every tentacle she had was hissing with delight. "It's amazing!" she twirled one of the gargoyle pups around, spinning with joy. It squeaked and growled, spouting something excitedly in what might have been French.

Hermione kissed the pup on the nose and set him down , ruffling his wings. "I think I'm really going to like it here." She rushed up to me, grinning from ear-to-ear. She pressed a book into my arms. "This is my absolute favourite!"

"Complex Acid-Base Balance in Advanced Potions Preservation?"

Hermione stared at him and then the book. "Oops, sorry, that was the book I was reading. This one!" She swapped the books out— both had the same bright blue leather binding.

"From Sweet Stories of Faerie-Folk to the Tabernacle of Terror: A Compendium of Wizarding Tales for Children of All Ages! Dragons, Gargoyles, and Mermaids, Oh My?" I peered curiously at the book and then back at Hermione.

"What?" Hermione said, pouting. "I liked reading before bed."

Her shadow had its arms crossed, and her tentacles were sulking with a distinctive droop. Mine manifested a mouth and bit me for the offence, and I felt as though my actions were being weighed by the Feather of Maat. I brushed her chin with my fingers, feeling the almost magnetic pull to touch her. The velvet smoothness of her fur was softer than any fabric I'd ever known. Her eyes shimmered as a tangible warmth flowed through my fingertips.

Her bestial shape melted away, leaving Hermione's lush mane of curls and chocolate brown eyes that held flecks of amber as amber itself held inclusions of insects. Her tentacles looks a little confused as they dove into her hair to hide. No matter how human we might appear at times, there were a few tiny things that were every bit as hard to explain as they were to hide. At least we both had sufficient hair to hide them— as well as high collars and conveniently roomy robes.

I took a step forward awkwardly as my bestial shape fell away. As odd as it sounded in my head, walking bipedally on paws felt strangely more balanced than on human feet now. I hovered close to her face, my nose brushing against hers. Would she allow me? Here in the real world? This was no dreamscape. Would she still want me tomorrow, next week, next year, fifty years from now? If some handsomer, silkier, smooth talking, magically blessed—

"May I kiss you?" Hermione asked softly, causing my brain to derail itself in a grand crash complete with explosive conflagration.

My mouth worked silently, a small tremor in my jaw. _Did_ she? "Yes," I heard myself say, and her lips met mine as a ghost of her breath passed my lips. And in that moment nothing mattered but drinking her in, savouring her taste that had a hint of her favourite tea lingering on her tongue. It was better than I remembered in that dreamscape. She was my ambrosia of the gods. She was— my amortentia.

 _"Sev, what did yours smell like? Tell me!"_

 _"It doesn't matter."_

 _"Sev, come on! You can tell me! I told you mine. Freaking broom polish, chocolate frogs, and some kind of strong musky scent, like that nasty thick cologne that is all the rage among the Gryffindor boys."_

 _"Warm spice, like fur, clean earth, and scent of tea with a hint of peach," I had replied, slamming by book closed because I wasn't getting anything done anyway._

 _"So, you're going to have to find someone that has a cat, enjoys the outdoors, and likes peach tea?" Lily mused._

 _I scowled at her. "It's nothing but a bunch of rubbish, anyway."_

I pulled away from Hermione a little breathless, realising that even so many years ago, my Amortentia had given me a firm hint of my future.

"Ooooooo!" the gathering of gargoyle pups cooed from around the room. "Lifemates! Lifemates!" They wriggled their ears and wagged their tails back and forth, wings pumping as though they were applauding.

Hermione flushed a little, but she gave me a shy, pink smile.

"You may kiss me whenever you wish," I said, brushing her hair back from her face as I memorised the look she had there. The nagging doubt in the back of my head warned me that I was assuming much. Give her time, and she would surely find someone far more suitable than me.

She pressed her lips to my nose and gave a few of my tentacles a soothing caress, causing them to purr in approval, and I wasn't far behind. "I won't, you know," she said, moving to shelve a book on the shelf. She plucked Sabine off the nearby chair and cuddle-carried her out of the library.

"Won't what?" I asked, feeling oblivious and dim-witted. Potions Master, my arse. All your brains went leaking out your ears with that one kiss.

Stop thinking about that!

"Find some bigger, brawnier, somehow better-looking specimen of bestial prowess who sports studlier wings and a face that charms the spots off a leopard," she said with a shake of her head. "And even if I did, it wouldn't work anyway."

"Work?" I muttered lamely.

"That someone wouldn't be _you_ ," she said with a matter of fact expression.

She said it in the same tone that oozed the unsaid "obviously." She said it like it would be the most logical thing in the world, and it would silly of me to think otherwise. What was even more earth-shattering was that I… **_believed_** her.

" _Cést l'heure de dormir?_ " all the pups chimed together as they trailed behind Hermione.

" _Où dormir?_ "

" _Je veux dormir!_ "

" _Oui!_ "

Hermione smiled at the pups. " _Oui, ma petite enfants!_ " she cooed to them. " _Allez_!"

The excited pups ran circle around her legs and trailed her into the one bedroom we had managed to unpack.

A large, blue gargoyle pup ran in between my feet and pressed his head against the back of my legs to push me towards the bedroom.

" _Dépêchez-toi!_ " the pup said, pushing me forward with no regard whatsoever for personal space.

"Do I even get a say in this?" I muttered lowly to the pup.

Multiple gargoyle pup heads poked out from the bedroom. " _Non_!"

Well, then. _Bonne nuit_ to you too.

I will confess that about five minutes later, I was blissfully entangled in warm wings and a down duvet that had its innards plucked from the wings of Abraxans and the cover sewn with the finest Acromantula silk. All the pups were curled around us, and Hermione's face was pressed snugly into the curve of my neck. The world faded around me as I gratefully, enthusiastically, and willingly surrendered into the oblivion of sleep.

"Mrrowl."

 _Plunk. Pad. Knead. Knead. Purrrrrrr._

"Crookshanks!" Hermione murmured sleepily. "You're such a clever boy! You found us!"

Warm tuna breath was her only answer.

The half-kneazle beast curled up between us with a smugness of which only felines were capable.

"You're such a good puss," Hermione cooed.

A twang of jealousy gnawed sharply at my stomach just before her tail entwined with mine and she snuggled against me with a happy sigh. "Now everything is totally _perfect_ ," she whispered into my ear as she fully relaxed into me.

A tug of a smile tugged at my lips, and I then closed my eyes again. For now, everything was perfect. Merlin willing, might it always be so.

* * *

 **A/N:** Okay so, I'd intended this to be a one-shot, but it mutated into a monster. Sorry, so sorry. Hope you enjoyed the extra-long chapter of long-iness. Did you like the gargoyle pups? I think they are adorable, then again... I think monsters are beautiful so... Count on Crookshanks to get in the last word, er, paw. Kneazles. Sheesh.


	2. Chapter 2: Coming Home

**A/N:** I had meant for Shadow Play to be a one-shot, but that didn't quite work out. It never does. Onward to chapter 2!

 **Beta Love:** The Dragon and the Rose, Dutchgirl01, and Flyby Commander Shepard

 **Warning:** Citrus fruit

* * *

 **Shadow Play**

Chapter 2: Home

 _There are dark shadows on the earth, but its lights are stronger in the contrast. - Charles Dickens_

-Hermione-

Nothing is more nerve wrecking than standing in your Muggle parent's garden with a team of agents who didn't exactly have a great grasp of current Muggle fashion. The hat Agent Jenkins was wearing looked like he'd borrowed it from the sixties, and his vest was tweed and utterly atrocious. Severus and I were wearing our standard high-collared black on black due to cranky tentacles that didn't always want to lay and and stay down. Thankfully, both of us had the glamour potion on, so we didn't scare some poor random Muggle to death. Our shadows were behaving, as much as they were able, doing their best to imitate that of an ordinary human as possible. Nothing quite defeated the point of a good glamour when your shadow looked like something Cthulhu dreamed up.

Peterson was being a total grump. Someone had woken him up before he was ready, and the others were pestering him because they believed he was never ready no matter what time it was. He was suspiciously poking my mum's favourite rosebush with his finger as if he expected it to come alive and try to eat someone. I think most magical people think that way. You get used to everything having some sort of life if its own so when you come into the Muggle side of things, it's hard to accept that the holes in the garden came from ordinary animals and not gnomes. There wasn't a thestral eating the garden flowers, it was aphids, and the rose bush was just a rose bush, not a man-eating hyperactive fanged rose mutant that got away from a Wizarding greenhouse.

Alastor smacked Peterson's hand. "Stop it," he groused.

Ah, Moody could out-grump Peterson with one eye and his hands tied behind his back. He'd become especially more grumpy after some raging Death Eater shoved him into a box and harvested his hair for Polyjuice. I can't imagine why that would have bothered him. Not at all.

My whiskers tweaked my ears, reminding me that sarcasm did me no service they couldn't do better. Severus' whiskers also tweaked my ears, reminding me that he could do sarcasm better than anyone. They were probably right. His whiskers may even have one up on him in the sarcasm department, but I wasn't going to say anything.

It had taken almost an hour to convince the gargoyle pups that staying home or (gods forbid) going back home to Paris was safer and better for them. Instead, they compromised by staying home with Crookshanks. Crooks took everything in stride, and he even managed to bag himself a salmon from somewhere. Bastion popped in to check on us all, and he joked that they were going to have to move some other gargoyles over to make it a proper clan affair. I wasn't really sure if he was joking or not. I suppose I'll know when I go back home and find it has been expanded.

Knowing Amelia in the little time I had to get to know her, she'd have gleefully expanded our quarters if it meant the possibility of permanent gargoyles on the grounds. Knowing Bastion, he was always looking for new places to expand his people's territories. I might as well resign myself to the fact I would always be coming home to gargoyles being around. I didn't mind, though. They really had grown on me. They'd grown on Severus too.

The one he called Bamf loved to hitch rides on his back and play with his tentacles, and his tentacles would play right back. Whatever name the pup had before being nicknamed, he wasn't telling. Bamf loved his nickname and wouldn't respond to anything else—well, except for a growl from bio-mum, who would come to visit on occasion. We've all been in that situation where we prefer to be called something and yet our parents _still_ insist on calling us whatever they've been calling you the last few decades.

As the door to my parent's house opened, my mum's eyes went wide as she saw me and she flung her arms around me and squeezed the stuffing out of me. She didn't even seem to care that we had an audience, and all of them were people she didn't know.

"Hermione!" she gushed. "They said you were _**dead!**_ "

My father's frantic footsteps thudded down the stairs as he practically flung himself into me in a lung-crushing, oxygen depriving hug, and I knew that rumours of my death had reached my poor parents faster than I'd anticipated. Though, why they thought I was dead and not just missing caused my whiskers to itch.

"How did you find out?" I wheezed. My father released me from his attempt to imitate the Venomous Tentacula so I could breathe. _Thanks, dad._

"Your headmaster delivered the message with his condolences," my father said, and I could the strain in both my parent's faces. They had been grieving my death. "Please, come in. Come in. I suppose you have a story to tell, and your friends look all business."

Introductions took a while. I let Alastor do most of it as I concentrated on memorising the feel of my parent's arms around me. Sure, they didn't know what I really looked like, but they didn't care. I was still their strangely gifted, magical daughter that had just come back to life. The fact that Dumbledore had come personally to deliver the message of my death told me two things: one, he was an insidious bastard, and two, he had fully sent me out to meet my death with Severus. There was a third thing in there: my parents had to be moved as quickly as possible. He'd already visited them to deliver that news and perhaps confirm that I hadn't somehow survived and stopped in. I was, despite worrying my parents, glad that I had taken a few extra days to settle everything with Alastor and Amelia as well as the gargoyle pups. It had kept the old man from realising that I had survived my intended murder.

My father was not an idiot, and he realised that there was something wrong the moment he finished processing the fact that I was very much alive. He knew before Alastor even said they were in danger. Despite his gruff exterior, Alastor did well with explanations involving convincing someone of imminent danger. He knew what _real_ danger was, and he had no issue describing it in horrible, intimate detail.

Thankfully, however, he wasn't doing that. He was actually being quite understanding. Maybe it was because he'd just lost and regained a daughter of sorts in me—as well as realised that the man everyone thought was a swell, upstanding guy was not such a wonderful a person, after all. He'd deliberately mutated a twelve-year-old girl, and a guy who was on the cusp of becoming a young Death Eater. I could be wrong, but I was pretty sure that those things didn't equal "swell, upstanding guy." I was probably biased though. I had to count the votes for all of my tentacles and my shadow, possibly all of my whiskers too. That's a lot of votes.

Good thing I'm in a good relationship with all of my body parts. Having an argument would keep me occupied for several days. I'm sure my parents would have serious questions for me if having a discussion with any of my own body parts on a literal level were ever to happen in front of them. I found it quite comforting, strangely, never being alone. Merlin knew that I had been really lacking in the friends department during my "schooling years."

Thinking of school made me wonder what the Troublesome Trio was up to. They, too, were victims of a sort in the mess that was Dumbledore's plans. I tried to form an unbiased opinion about Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, and Ginevra Weasley and my brain sort of stalled, clutched its grey matter, and went into arrest. My father would say that brains don't go into arrest, Hermione, that is for hearts, but I'm telling you my brain went into arrest just thinking about them. What were they up to? Did they survive their first night? Did they have enough supplies? Food? Did they know the shielding and area wards?

Hell, did they get along enough not to kill each other while… doing whatever they were doing? Damned if I knew. None of us knew anything. I'd been sent to my death at Severus' hands. He'd been sent to his death by Fenrir and my hands. None of us knew anything.

"Let me get this right," my father said slowly. "There is a war going on, and somehow my daughter is a key target. And we—need to move into some sort of witness protection programme?"

"And if we don't," my mother whispered, "they will use us to get to her?"

"You've already seen what these people are willing to do," Alastor said, sipping the tea my mum compulsively made and distributed to every single person in the room. "They were willing to kill her. The fact is you're still alive because they think she's dead."

Hearing Alastor saying it out loud caused my tentacles to shift uneasily and wriggle on my back. I was coming to terms with the fact that my parents would have to be moved somewhere far away, and for their protection I wouldn't be able to visit them until everything was finally done. How long that would take, I had _no_ idea. It's not like you planned out wars to the minute. "Okay, folks. We have a war to win. It has to all be over by midnight on July 23. I have to be at my mother's birthday party in the morning. So let's get to it!"

Yeah, I didn't see that happening.

"How long?" My mother said, asking what any logical person would ask, the prospect of war aside.

Alastor hesitated, perhaps wondering which truth was most appropriate at the moment.

I broke my self-imposed silence. "I don't know, mum," I said truthfully. "All I know is that I want you to be safe. I _need_ you to be safe. I know what is lurking out there, and I know they'll do anything to get any edge they can. They don't care what you know or don't know. They care that you're my parents, and that you are the most effective way to get to me."

"Why are you so important, Hermione?" mum asked, wringing her hands. "Why is our baby in a war?"

"It's not just me, mum," I said truthfully. "There are some families that are fighting a good fight, but they _can_ fight." My parents weren't magical. That fact hung in the air between us. They could never know what danger they were in because to them, magic was something intangible. Their daughter could do amazing things, but for all they knew I was just good at slight of hand and special effects.

My parents couldn't just pick up a firearm and make Voldemort go away, not that I wanted them too. My parents were pacifists. They were more likely to protest like Ghandi than even consider violence. The worse violence they were capable of was attacking someone's mouth with a root canal—or that time my father smacked my rear end for walking out in the street without looking both ways. He'd been really upset, to be fair, and he'd held me tight afterwards as I cried all over him.

"Where will you being moving us? How will you finish school?" my father asked. "Will we have to register you to a different school?"

That's my dad, always thinking of my education. "I'm already an adult in the Wizarding world, dad. I sat my final exams too." Years ago, but he didn't need to know that. "I have a job at the Ministry and everything."

"You—" mum's voice trembled and then she smiled. "That's our girl. Always so responsible."

"Do you have anyone outside of England that you can contact and stay with for an extended period of time?" Alastor asked. "Someone who does not share the Granger name in any way? It is essential that you do not use or mention the name Granger after this. Names… can still be traced. Say them, and it will alert someone."

Mum's eyes widened fearfully. She had always been one of those people who didn't like the Crown getting into her business. I'd always envisioned my parents are the laid back hippie couple—hippies with dental tools. "There is my cousin, Gemma. She married into the Douglas family. She's in Australia, and she's been wanting us to move there for years."

"They really do need more dentists," my father said thoughtfully. "They always had such silly nicknames for us. They never called us by our last name anyway."

"Angel," mum said, shaking her head.

"Davy," father muttered.

Wow, and I thought Dewey, Cheatum, and Howe had names that boggled my mind. I never thought of my mum and dad as anything but, well, mum and dad. Hell, I didn't even know my parents _had_ first names for the first decade of my life. Correction, I thought my parents had the same first name. "Doctor."

I figured it out eventually. I was bright like that.

"Will you be able to see us?" My mum was looking at me a little desperately.

The truth was, thanks to the glamour and a rather extensive skill set, I could probably visit them without any incident, but whether that was wise or even allowable was not my call to make. I looked to Alastor for some sort of lifeline.

"Occasionally, when it's safe," Moody said, saving me. "But it will not be very often, I'm afraid. I'm sure you can understand why. We will, our office that is, check on you regularly. Give you updates so you won't be left in the dark. Will that be acceptable?"

Father squeezed mum's hand tightly. "I don't like it," he said after a while. "I don't like war. I don't like like my child being in danger when I can't do anything about it, but I know I can't shield you from the world forever as much as I wanted to." He stared at me, brows furrowing. "But at least it's not like your dream, love. Our baby wasn't turned into a monstrous beast meant to hang out on the top of cathedrals."

I choked on my tea. Severus patted me gently on the back, trying to both be comforting and not show that he was as discomfited as I was that my mother had had a dream about me becoming a monstrous beast.

"It was just a silly little dream," mum said, embarrassed. "I dreamed you fell into a room of eggs and befriended a bunch of gargoyles that talked."

Was my eye twitching? It felt like it was. I tried in vain to squeeze myself into my teacup and disappear. I loathed Divination class. I loathed anything to do with it, yet here was my loving mum having dreams that her baby turned into a monster and crash landed in a room full of newly hatched gargoyles.

"It was so real, though," mum said with a sigh. "You met this tall, taciturn man who really needed a dentist, but he cared for you very much, and you had such beautiful babies."

" _ **MOTHER!"**_ I hissed.

My mum, unabashed, grinned at me. "A mother can dream right? I do eventually want to see you have my grandbabies."

"Can I just," I protested, "try to survive the war first?"

She held my hand tightly. "Don't wait for love, darling. When you find it, hold on tight. Love does not always come when it is convenient. Take your father and I. We met during a war protest at a Beatles concert."

I knew it! My parents were pacifist hippies!

"Actually, the man in my dream quite looked a lot like your dark-haired friend here. Tall, dark-haired, and rather silent. Perhaps there is something between you two?"

" _ **MUM!"**_

My mother was not exactly the most tactful person in the world when it came to affairs of the heart. She'd tried to convince me that Guy Brodies had a crush on me in fifth grade. I'd told her she was nutters.

"Leave the poor girl alone, love," my father tutted. "She'll find someone eventually."

"I'm not getting any younger!" my mum protested as if she was the one who would have to carry the child and not me. What the hell was I thinking? Turn that train around right now, missy. No babies for you unless you can hatch them from an egg outside of your body.

Oh, _Merlin_. Please do not take that literally. I slammed by fist into the wood table, muttering, "it shall not be set in stone" three times in succession.

 _You've touched a gargoyle. Who knows what gifts that gave your monstrous biology?_ the voice in my head whispered.

 _Shut it! I do not need to deal with this right now!_

 _Admit it, you'd rather be cuddling under his impressive wings!_

 _Well, yes, but—_ _ **DAMNIT!**_

I needed a hug, preferably from someone with the same Lovecraftian social graces. Hrm, wherever would I find that?

It was funny, all this time I had thought that the magic in my Muggle family was traced back to an Erasmus Granger in my father's line, but maybe my mum's family had something too. Sure, her premonitions were usually about me, but they were real more often than a certain Sybill Trelawney's was. I was still the dreaded Muggle-born witch, but at least it proved that magic wasn't born entirely in a vacuum of randomness. Unless some barmy old coot tampers with your DNA and turns you into a magic-sucking battery, but I digress.

"We'd love you anyway, you know," mum said suddenly, grasping my hands and squeezing them tight. "Even if you looked like a monster. I saw it in my dream, but—you were still my Hermione."

I let her hug me tight because she needed it. Dad needed it. Hell, _**I**_ needed it. Amelia and Alastor would take care of the details, and they would be okay. That was what mattered, but I couldn't help but feel glad that they were understanding that it had to be done, and despite their want to cradle me to their bosom forever and protect me from the world, they realised that their baby had grown up and made her own life choices.

I hoped they knew I wanted to do them proud, even if they didn't know the magical world.

"We're so proud of you," my father said, hugging me tight.

I let out a soft sob and clung to him, treasuring them both for what they were and what they had always been. They may not have understood, and they didn't claim to, but they loved me anyway. Many didn't have that luxury.

"Hrm, so who are you, young man?" my mum asked, staring up at Severus with no fear at all. "Do you fancy my daughter? Do you work together? What do you do for a living?"

Severus paled a little. "Severus. Who wouldn't? Yes. I—" He swallowed hard and tugged on his collar. "I work at the Ministry. My job is… similar to that of the Secret Intelligence Service, or M16."

"Damage Control," Moody offered.

My father nudged his wife in the ribs. "Stop it, interrogating would-be suitors is _my_ job, woman."

To his credit, Severus didn't Disapparate immediately on the spot. That earned him serious brownie points with me.

Mum beamed. "So, he's a suitor?" she asked with pure mischief in her eyes. "Mmmm, government job. That's high paying too."

Dear Merlin, please save me from my own mother. My tentacles were hiding fearfully under my collar, and rightfully so. My mother was a scary creature that conquered the baddies that hid in the dark for her child times uncountable. I wondered what would happen if she ever met the gargoyle pups. Would they fear her? Or love on her mercilessly? Hell, what would SHE do?

Alastor was looking mighty smug over there as he was sipping his tea. Maybe it was because Alastor didn't need to ask any questions anymore. He'd been through all the memories. I was thankful for that, because I really didn't need any grief from both dads. One dad interrogating people I knew was enough. One mum doing the same was more than enough. Argh!

"Partners, hrm?" Dad said, getting into the act. "I feel as though I should question your intentions, threaten to pull out all your teeth without the luxury of anesthesia should you ever hurt her, and bury you in sand, slather your head with honey, and leave you to the fire ants should you even consider doing so."

So much for my father being a confirmed pacifist. I guess when his daughter's happiness is on the line, all bets are off.

Severus looked really uncomfortable, but he straightened his shoulders as all eyes turned to him. "Mr Granger, I respect your daughter, which isn't to say I would never hurt her. But I would never, ever intentionally hurt her. Far be it from me to state the obvious—she would end me before I could. She is an exceptionally capable, strong individual, and she sees things in people that even we cannot see in ourselves. She sees the good and the bad, and she somehow does not judge save for action and deed over hearsay and rumour. It is because of that I am alive today, and I would never, ever wish to dishonour her by making light of it. There are many who claim they would die for a person, but I will not. I will say that I would live for her, and that is something I have felt for no one else."

My father stared into Severus, and I found myself sweating on his behalf. I'd never "brought home a boy" before, and now I seemed to be making up for lost time by bringing home a wizard instead—a wizard who was definitely _not_ a boy. He held out his hand. "Well then. I trust you will take excellent care of her while we are in Australia, hrm?"

Severus slowly clasped my father's outstretched hand. "As best as I am able," he replied firmly to my father.

My father smiled. "Maybe there is something to your dreams after all, love," he said to my mother.

* * *

-Severus-

"Did you mean that back there?" Hermione asked as she leaned into my shoulder. Her tail had slipped under my robes and corkscrewed around mine. I knew she was asking because she her track record in normal relationships had been seriously skewed. No matter what others told her or even what her heart was telling her, she wanted to hear it from me. I could relate.

"Every word," I replied, listening to the garden sounds. "Does this frighten you?" We hadn't exactly had a normal relationship, even by Wizarding standards—hell even by Muggle standards. It was one thing to be told by group of ancient, soul-reading gargoyles that you were compatible, but belief could only come with hundreds of small things like the soft press of her against my shoulder and the velvet soft entrapment of her tail with mine. Normal people would have probably held hands, but then we'd have to put down our tea glasses.

"I find it comforting, scary, but," Hermione said, sipping her tea, "I'm grateful. I wonder, though, had we met like normal people do—if I had been the same age, the same time—would we have had that connection. The pull."

"I don't know," I answered truthfully. "All I know is the here and now. I will be honest that you probably wouldn't have found me very redeemable in my teen years."

"Such anger and hate was not born in a vacuum," she said after a while. "I would like to think if you'd had something less traumatic things could have been different."

I pressed my nose into her curls, drawing her close to me as I savoured the very touch of every strand of her hair against my skin. "And if that meant having never met you in a way that lead to this, I am not sure I would make that choice."

"Even if it meant having a happier life?"

"My mistakes make me appreciate what I have, even though it is painfully hard to believe it is real—that I could even have such a thing," I confessed.

I felt her tail reflexively tighten around mine, almost as if she was afraid I would slip away and vanish. We were both such a pair, such insecure monsters. We were what people feared in the dark, but we were afraid. We were afraid that finding happiness was something fleeting and illusory. Being a monster seemed so simple. Being human was torture.

We had fast-tracked a relationship due to our unorthodox shadow-induced trip through memory lane, and I realised that it could have gone either way. Either we became closer because of it, or we would run screaming from each other. Fortunately, for both of us, we ran towards each other instead of away.

"Daddy said he's going to let Alastor handle the house," she said thoughtfully. "They are going to put it under some charms to make it a lot like Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. It will just disappear from everyone's memory until it's safe for them to move back."

"Sans the Dark magic traps and screaming portraits of your relatives?" I asked.

Hermione snorted, beating her head against my shoulder. She sighed wistfully. "I was so worried we'd have to, have to—"

"Obliviate them?"

Hermione turned to me, her eyes wet with unshed tears. "Yes."

I brushed my thumb against her skin and pressed my lips to her forehead. "They are wonderful people with kind hearts and scary threats to potential suitors."

Hermione choked on a laugh, her arms snaking around my neck and pulling me over her. It felt strange not having wings to wrap around her, tentacles to get entangled with hers—even though our tails had figured out how to manifest without the rest. It was so new, missing my more monstrous self just so I could enfold her as completely as I wished. Nervously, I wrapped her in my arms, unsure of my own body like a nubile teenager with absolutely no experience at all. Instinct warred with the human mind as I pressed my teeth to her neck, my nostrils flaring as I imprinted her scent deep into my psyche—the scent of Amortentia. I wanted to breathe her in forever, run my hands over every curve of her skin, and feel her heartbeat against me.

Nothing in my sordid past could have prepared me for how tender I wanted to be—how protective I was. Lucius had taken me to various places to "get over Lily" but that had been purely physical. There had never been an emotional connection. My feelings for Lily hadn't been anything like this.

"Severus," she whispered, her voice trembling.

The very sound of my name on her lips brought me almost to tears. I'd never wanted to hear my name so badly from anyone. Every syllable was like a siren's song, calling me to her. Her fingers were exploring my face and my hair, her warm breath tickling my skin. I knew I would cross land and sea and the very fires of damnation to answer her call.

"Please," she breathed against my ear. "Touch me."

"In your parent's garden?" I managed to say, struggling to remain coherent.

"They're not here to notice," she said, her voice desperate and sad. I knew that in that moment all of her memories of this place had been of them, and they were gone, whisked away to a safe-house so they could get the paperwork to make a new life in Australia, leaving her with memories of the old and none of the new. She wanted new memories. She wanted them here—with me.

With me.

" _Sev, do you ever think I'll find someone?" Lily had asked._

 _I remember wrinkling my nose at the thought. "You can find someone any old time of the day, Lily. Whether you will find someone that is truly meant for you is anyone's guest."_

" _Sev, can't you be positive for once? Give me something happy to think on?" She had pouted at me. "I want to live the dream. Is that so bad?"_

" _Depends on the dream," I had replied._

" _Ughhh! Sev!" She had swatted me._

Lily had been one positive bright spot in my life until the day she had enough of me. Even saints had their breaking point, I'd imagine, though I never considered her a saint. She'd been right about some things; that was the thing about half-truths. Half-truths hurt more because the part of your brain that latches onto the truth takes the rest of it like extra baggage—down, down into the depths of your tortured soul.

She had taught me one important lesson… well, a few actually. One, there is always the one thing that breaks the Thestral's back. Two, forgiveness is great on paper, but sometimes that paper burns leaving your with nothing but cold ashes. Three, sometimes memories of someone are the only positive things you have left. Sometimes, people die before you can make up or grow up. Our friendship, despite its flaws, had served to to bring a little peace to my life for a time, and I had paid for it with a lack of peace to my life ever since the day Lily had died. Until now.

I pressed my forehead against hers and forced myself to be sure. I didn't want there to be any misunderstanding on my or her part. "Are you sure this is what you want? Once I cross this line, I do not think I will be able to return to what I once thought to be… normal." There was a light at the end of the tunnel, and if I took that final step, I would find out if it was freedom or a mere illusion like water shimmering on a desert horizon. I knew myself well enough that there were only two outcomes.I would hold onto her tightly and never let go or I would close the door and walk away, turning my cheek and willing my heart to stone. I couldn't do casual—not with _her_.

It was already too late. I had already had powerful feelings for her. I wasn't even sure if I could be just friends with her after everything we had shared. If she turned me down—if she only wanted a little physical comfort—it would break something in me. It wouldn't even be her fault. I just knew I was wired for one, and I desperately wanted it to be her.

Hermione's eyes met mine, and I saw her naked vulnerability as she stood on the edge of the abyss. "What I want is selfish," she said quietly. She pulled away from me, averting her eyes as she pulled her robe around to her chest in a maneuver I knew well as I did it almost every day. Her tail unraveled from mine so slowly and painfully that I wanted to take back my question, grovel, anything to make that chasm that was forming between us stop.

She looked up to the clouds passing over the moon. "I want the dream. I want someone whose gaze never lingers on another any longer than it takes him to dismiss them. I want to feel safe. I want someone that knows I'm not perfect but desires me anyway. Someone who doesn't mind sitting in a library reading for hours and saying absolutely nothing and it being a great day. I want scintillating conversation that makes my hair stand on end as I argue my point and he his, but in the end we can still agree to disagree. I want them to be okay with the fact I come with a half-Kneazle and about two dozen gargoyle pups that call me mum."

Hermione closed her eyes. "I want warm wings to cuddle under, the scent of dragon's blood mixed with earth and blackberries on his skin. I want to shiver as he growls at some young upstart who is trying to make a move on what is his. I want to be someone's everything and have them know they are _mine_. I know it won't ever be completely perfect, but I want go to sleep and wake up knowing it's pretty damn close." She huffed. "I want him to be able to reach the top shelf and be okay with picking the jar of agrimony off it for me because I'm short and all of my tentacles are sleeping."

I let out my breath slowly. "I should have known you wouldn't be the kind of witch who has a short, fluffy list of impossible goals."

"It's a long, fluffy list of nigh-impossible goals," Hermione whispered. "Purposely sabotaged so it could never be obtained, so I could never be in a position to be hurt."

"Hrm, well," I said, unfolding one wing and curving it around her gently. "Look, warm wings."

I pressed my face into her curls. "I happen to like reading, and I seem to be tall enough to reach the agrimony off the top shelf for you."

I curled my tail around hers, pulling it closer to us both. "I happen to have experience with obnoxiously cute gargoyle pups and a bright orange beast that may or not be a real half-Kneazle or a feline god."

I brushed my hand against her cheek, pulling her face to to look at me. "I am a possessive man, Hermione. I do not share. I will never be the kind of man who takes kindly to another man flirting with another man's mate. I would probably do horrible things to them. I would also enjoy it."

Hermione stared up at me. "Severus—"

"My question to you, Hermione," I said, watching her eyes fluttered as I said her name. Oh, how I loved the way it affected her. "What do I smell like to you?"

Hermione flinched, turning her head.

"Hermione," I rumbled.

"Warm earth," she replied.

I tugged her chin over and pulled it up until she was shyly looking at me. "And?"

"Dragon's blood and blackberries."

"Hrm, imagine that." I lowered my head, the tip of my nose brushing lightly against hers. "And do you know what my Amortentia smelled like back when I was sixteen and convinced it was nothing but a load of rubbish?"

Hermione flushed. "Spring flowers and candy rainbows?"

I snorted. "Something vaguely spicy, like warm fur, fresh earth, and tea with a hint of peach. And do you know who happens to smell just like that?"

"Minerva?" Hermione squeaked.

I growled, pinning her wrists against the loamy earth of the garden. "You," I purred into her mouth, my lips brushing against hers with agonising slowness. "Say you want _me_ , Hermione, and I will live for you and only you until the moment I take my last breath."

"Hmmmmmmmmmm!" The sound of humming came from the nearby bushes.

"Come on!"

"Answer him!"

Multiple sets of shining, glowing gargoyle eyes peeked out from the rose bushes.

Pop.

The elder gargoyle appeared and glowered at the pups. "Back to bed!"

"Awwww, they're so close!"

"Can't we watch?"

"Please?"

I was never going to get Hermione's confession of affection of any kind because she was going to die of mortification right there in front of me. Only about a decade plus of practicing Occlumency as a means of protecting my life kept me from showing what my mind wanted to do, which was grab Hermione and Disapparate some place so obscure that it would take the pups considerable time to triangulate our new location.

Hermione took in a deep breath, squared her shoulders firmly, snaked her arms around my neck, and pulled me down to her level, making me lurch somewhat as my sense of balance went flying away. "I _want_ you, Severus. So much that it's painful. So much that it scares me. With you I want to believe anything is possible."

"Mmm, that's a good start," Bastion said, nipping his pups on the rump. "Back to the rookery with the lot of you!"

 _ **Pop. Poppop. Pop!**_

"Have a glorious evening," the elder said, glowing eyes seeming to flicker like distant stars.

 _ **Pop!**_

He disappeared as well.

Hermione let out her breath slowly. "I told you I come with baggage."

I smiled slightly, running my fingers through her curls. "I want the entire package," I said. "Kneazle beast, gargoyle pups, and one she-beast whose eyes look only to me."

"Severus," she whispered.

I saw in her face such warmth and fear all rolled in one. I pressed my mouth to hers, capturing her lips as my tongue attempted to open parlay by running across her bottom lip. Our kiss deepened with a mutual groan caught us both up. I managed to maintain just enough control to grasp my wand and cast a Disillusion charm, Muffliato, and the one charm I never thought I'd ever need to use: the mass-debuttoner charm. Correction—I never thought I'd be using it in _THIS_ situation.

My hands drifted down the curves of her body as I helped relieve her of her concealing robes, and she was doing much the same for me thanks to my well-placed charm. Had I not taken care of that issue, she'd probably be cursing my robes for being as restrictive as the Muggle Alcatraz, and maybe she wouldn't have been so wrong.

I saw the look of wonder in her eyes as she looked at me. There was no trace whatsoever of horror or disgust. There was heat and desire, need, and a hunger, and I wanted to be the one to sate every one.. I latched onto her neck, my teeth pressing into her skin as I sucked just enough to cause her to buck against me, her hands clawing my back as she made a soft mewling sound that unraveled me completely.

Hermione.

I felt our bodies slide together in an attempt to merge completely. Closer. Closer. Closer!

I felt the sting of sharper teeth in my mouth as my tongue ran across my elongated canines and grasped her neck with my teeth with my need and rising possessiveness. She didn't struggle, no. She yielded to the mark of my teeth against her skin, breathing my name like a mantra that called me Home.

Home was _her_.

It would always be her. Now and forevermore.

I fell into her arms as our passions met and burst into flame, the all-consuming blackness of our mutual need carrying us into each other's minds, bodies, and souls.

At last.

I was Home.

* * *

 _-Hermione-_

My eyes opened with protest, complaining that they weren't ready for any additional abuse. I was surrounded in the secure embrace of tangled arms and drowsy tentacles, all of which were not inclined to give me up for anyone or anything. Warmth of wings cradled me close, and it was enough to elicit a purr from me without even trying. The scent of warm earth, dragon's blood incense, and blackberries was intoxicating.

 _His_ scent.

A mate. My mate—at last.

I hadn't lied the night before. I had very carefully constructed my dream partner to be far too perfect to be true, or so I had thought. I had truly believed that if such things existed, they were only to be found in a fantasy world. How could I have believed there would be another like me? How could I have known such a thing was even _possible_?

When I had made my first monstrous transformation, I had come to accept that I would be the crazy Kneazle lady living alone on a mountain top somewhere with fifty Kneazles, an enormous library, and a rocking chair—provided I survived the war. Kneazles didn't care what I looked like, only what was on the inside. They, much like gargoyles, had different ways of weighing a person's worth. Yet, from the moment my shadow had brushed against his, something had irrevocably changed. Possibility had somehow become tangible. Suddenly, the dream had become obtainable. My enemy became my ally. He had wings. He enjoyed the library. He could accept what I was and all my flaws because he had been through the gauntlet as assuredly as I had.

We both had our long list of flaws to go with our strengths, but it was okay. We understood. Perfection wasn't required. Insecurity was expected. It was as close to normal as two wizard-made monsters could be, and perhaps, if one believed in such things some other hand had guided another into a perfection mortals could not fathom.

How else could something so random and chimaeric have struck twice, a seeming impossibility that would bring us together so perfectly? Surely not by Dumbledore's design. If anything, he may have realised that us coming together was a potentially messy mistake in his plan, hence his decision to send us after each other like two warheads from opposing teams. Had he known? Or was it just a convenient way to dispose of us?

My ears flicked as I homed in on the various Muggle sounds around us from the passing of distant cars to the giggling of small children somewhere down the road. The privacy fences between gardens had always been annoying to me as a child. It was hard to be social through a solid fence. Yet, I was never more glad of it at this moment, Disillusionment spells aside. Having made love over every solid place in my parent's garden, I should be blushing and mortified. But, I couldn't help but feel a certain relief that I had something positive in the here and now anchored to my memory of this place. I just hope mum didn't have some sort of prophetic dream about us consummating our bond as mates near her favourite flowerbed. I wasn't telling, that was for sure.

I did wonder if my mother was truly a seer or if she had some especially tenacious connection to her child that gave her a rather intimate window into my life. If that was true, I wasn't even sure how to apologise for what that would seem like to an outsider.

Severus' breath tickled my neck, and I groaned as his teeth followed after, nibbling my skin with soft suction that sent jolts of electric bliss through every nerve. Was this _normal_? Is this why Harry and Ginny were always off hiding in random broom closets and coming back smelling of sex and sweat? To be fair it wasn't just them. Many, many couples had occupied many, many closets, and I think that is why Argus Filch was so grumpy all of the time. Hell, I think that was why all the professors that were on patrol were grumpy whenever they found people in closets, empty classrooms, Quidditch changing rooms and the infamous Astronomy Tower. Can I admit to feeling a little smug satisfaction whenever Professor Snape caught some poor shmucks shagging each other in a place they thought so private and new?

Sorry, kids. One, your professors aren't idiots. Two, you suck at silencing charms. It was actually a miracle more witches weren't pregnant, considering most of them were entirely too self-conscious to ask Poppy for a vial of contraceptive potion. It was _free_ , for Merlin's sake, but people always seem to make excuses. Knowing the Weasleys' propensity to pop out children just by looking at someone sexually… I wondered if Ginny was already pregnant and that was why she "had" to go with Harry on his journey into the bowels of a secret mission.

Ron had already gotten Lavender Brown pregnant, but she'd miscarried due to a broom accident. He had dodged a big bullet there, as no one had known she was pregnant until Poppy had examined her after her accident to reveal the bad news.

Was that why so few pregnancies actually went to term? High risk Wizarding adolescence? Potions fumes? Broom accidents? Kicked by a hippogriff? Being transfigured into something by accident?

I'd studied Potions long enough to know that the ingredients in the contraceptive potion was specifically balanced to make sure it was not only safe to take long term but it wouldn't affect a pregnancy already conceived. It would prevent one from being so, but it wasn't abortive. But, you only had to take it once a month, right after you bled, and you were golden. I'd never taken it because—monster. No one was going to want to shag me in a broom closet, and I wasn't offering either.

But Severus—holy moley. He made my toes curl with the rumble of his voice and the mere touch of his breath on my skin. He was molten sex wrapped in a blanket of gimmie, and I could barely keep my hands off him after last night. The only reason I wasn't at this moment was that my arms were securely pinned to his back by his blissed out tentacles.

They had their fun too, after all, and I think our shadows were passed out under the peach trees. What can I say, the mating bond was a team sport. Most of the damage we had done to mum's poor garden would grow back, and the rest would be solved with a little TLC, sandpaper, and wood putty. Alastor had said something about putting a house-elf on the place to take care of maintenance while my parents were gone, and I privately thanked him for the foresight.

My body was twitching with pure pleasure as Severus demonstrated just how much he had learned over the night about what made me absolutely mad for him. I'd learned a few things too, but most of them required hands, and he wasn't letting me move at the moment. He was enjoying the tremble of my body against his, judging by the deep, rumbling purr my cries were invoking in him.

"Severus," I moaned.

"Hrrrrrrmione," he rumbled into my ear, making my eyes roll back in my head with overwhelming desire. Merlin, was this normal? Was it his superpower? Why did he not have women banging down his door and throwing themselves at his feet just so he could say their name like that? What if they found out? Would I have to fight back rampaging hordes of witches who wanted to throw themselves down on him and beg to have his babies?

"I love the look on your face," he said, rubbing his cheek against mine. His breath tickled my temples.

"The I'm going to kill you if you stop expression?" I muttered, breathless.

A smile, genuine and pure, replaced the normal frown his lips so commonly found themselves in. He looked decades younger with just that one change. Unlike me, he'd seen his human face long enough and grown into it that he had a very distinct, stable human self-image. I, on the other paw, saw myself as a monster first and a human lost in translation. But to see his face light up with such unspoken emotion—it was like whole new world.

His mental image of me was wonderfully alien—both a shining witch with riotous curls with sun blazing behind her and the Lovecraftian she-beast, with the moon rising behind her as she dominated the skies with a train of gargoyle pups chasing her like a line of monstrous goslings. Whatever I truly was didn't seem to matter in the slightest. To him— _I_ was perfect.

And when I saw that tender, needful smile on his face, _he_ was perfect. His high, shallow cheekbones, dark eyes, aquiline nose, and even how his hair fell about his face like curtains was him, and therefore it was all I wanted. Even the stain of his teeth that I had joked he had sucked on tea bags directly in order to get such a colour—even that didn't matter.

"She was such a _fool_ ," I breathed, my hands having freed themselves to explore every contour of his face, desperate to memorise every line, curve, and texture. I watched as his brows furrowed as he tried to understand what I was saying. "More for me," I said, pressing my lips to his, drinking him in.

It was his turn to groan, and his mouth opened to mine, giving me permission to do whatever I desired and more. Don't mind if I do, thank you! I slid my tongue in, seeking his and finding it eagerly awaiting me. Perhaps it was sentient like our tentacle friends; I don't know, but the sensation as his tongue met mine drove away any and all doubts that he might have second thoughts about his attraction to me.

Suddenly, I was on my back, my wrists held above my head, and his mouth moved lower towards my breast. The moment his heat enveloped my waiting nipple, I bucked wildly, growling, twisting, and writhing under his touch. His thumb ran across my other breast, and I cried out, whimpering, pleading, wanting him everywhere but especially lower. Oh, so much lower.

"Please," I gasped.

Something flickered across his dark eyes, some emotion I couldn't quite read, and then I realised what it was. Disbelief, no awe.

"Please, Severus," I breathed. "I want you." I saw Lily in his eyes—the memory of her. I saw what was his only memory of kindness slip away to be replaced with something primal.

His teeth were on my neck as he buried himself within me. We moved together frantically, my hands clawing and moving across his back, as my whimpering changed into a gasping, howling cry. My vision was blanking into white—shining so bright that closing my eyes did nothing. My hips moved with his in synchronisation, pushing ourselves to the edge of what seemed all the world to be purity. There was a howling in my ears, and I felt a scream building in my throat.

Suddenly, the floodgates broke, and I was screaming. His mouth covered mine even as his own cry of completion filled my mouth just as mine did his. We were falling upwards as much as down. The ground gave way as much as it flung us into the clouds. Severus pulled away from my mouth as a triumphant roar echoed through the garden.

My voice joined with his like the sounding off of lions proclaiming their territory across the Serengeti. Magic—the endless pool that gathered in my body—washed over Severus with a blast of warmth, wrapping around us like a cocoon.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

Like the powerful beat of a giant heart, the magic tightened around us, combining like the meeting of two seas, joined forever, irrevocably. Fibres of the magical tapestry wove between us, thread after thread after thread until I couldn't sense the end of my own magic or the beginning of his. I could _feel_ the hum of countless gargoyles as their voices joined the strange and beautiful song of magic, their contribution adding yet another thread to the magic between us. I could sense the pups gathered together, staring out over Paris, their wings beating wildly, almost like applause as they pointed their noses skyward and keened happily in joyous rapport.

And even in that moment of everything being so very _right_ , I saw the face of Albus Dumbledore like an overlay of that perfect moment, hanging over us like a mad puppeteer as his fingers tried to tamper with our threads. I felt the gargoyles growl menacingly, their threads vibrating with radiant white light as the warmth of the entire clan resonated through our joined magic. The image and feel of Albus' lingering magic stretched impossibly thin and then snapped, speeding away as though a rip current had caught his body in its grip and dragged him helplessly out to sea.

 _Lifemates._

 _Lifemates!_

The pups sang through the magic.

 _Finally!_

 _At last!_

 _Horrah!_

For the first time in years, I didn't feel the unseen grip of Albus' influence. Like the pain you don't realise you're feeling until you see the cut—I hadn't realised how his presence in my life had dominated, influenced, and manipulated me into doing his bidding.

"He's _gone_ ," Severus whispered, a look of shared wonder crossing his face as well.

"We're truly free," I said, staring up into his face with a dawning sense of disbelief and relief.

I had a feeling he was out there somewhere, still alive, but I didn't _care_. He was no longer hitchhiking and feeding on our magic like a tick burrowed deep into our magical skin.

Severus' mouth covered mine as a rush of our magic flared and resonated with each other. "I know the perfect way to celebrate," he whispered into my mouth.

Oh, sweet Merlin!

The blackness of oblivion dragged me under, and I enjoyed every, single minute of the journey.

 _Lily_ , I thought as the thrill of ecstasy shook me from head-to-toe, _I hope you're seeing this from your little cloud as you polish that tarnished halo. And he's all_ mine _. Thanks for that._

"I think I may love you," I speculated dreamily.

"You _think_ you do?"

"More testing of this hypothesis is required for such a theory to be confirmed. _Much_ more."

Severus' wickedly smug smile was the last thing I saw before I had cause to be _extremely_ glad that my mate's Muffliato spell was still going strong.

Might have to renew it. Just to be on the safe side.

If I could only remember where my wand was.

Bliss.

Later. We'd renew it— _ah!_ Later. When I could remember my name again.

* * *

My whiskers poked me awake, tugging on my face to get my attention. My nose relayed me a message that sausage and eggs were nearby. Was that beans? Tomatoes? Good gracious Merlin! I smelled black pudding and potatoes. The gods were shining down on me, if only I could move my legs.

It wasn't the fruity glory of blueberry pancakes, Madam Moody style, but it smelled like breakfast, by Merlin. Glorious eggs and sausage, come to Hermione. If you would be so kind, since I seem to be a little wrapped up at the moment.

My nose worked as it attempted to decipher the code of breakfast. What was cooking? Who was cooking it? Why it it smell like victory? Why did victory smell like eggs, sausage, tomatoes, fried bread, and potatoes? All these questions and more ran through my head until a wing curled around my body and pulled me close.

Gah! My mate!

 _But, the breakfast,_ my stomach protested.

Warm, snuggly mate.

 _Sausage and eggs!_ My stomach growled.

My stomach had a point. Neither of us had eaten in— fuck, how long had it been?

 _Language, Hermione._

I sighed. Some things never changed.

I still cursed more than my mother would have approved of, and my brain never ceased to remind me of my descent into swearing was unseemly.

Whose side are you on, brain?

No answer. Figures.

Maybe if I touched a unicorn, I would regain some purity. Then again, knowing my luck, I'd touch the one swearing unicorn on earth, get adopted, and have a small herd of swearing baby unicorn foals following me around calling me mummy. I'd probably sprout a horn in the center of my forehead too. Just what I needed.

I really should move, but my body was happily in that place that usually comes when your alarm goes off and you need to be up and moving around. I was fairly sure there was some universal law that said beds become fifty times more comfortable if you have to sacrifice sleep to crawl out of them. It doubles that when said sleeping place has your sleepy mate in it. Now, I wasn't exactly experienced in this area of mate-induced bed appeal outside of the here and now, but if my current experience was any gauge, we'd starve before we managed to crawl inside and eat.

I was so grateful that my parents were not around to witness the aftermath of our multiple couplings across mum's garden. A part of my brain was pondering just how worried I needed to be about being pregnant, and if I was if it meant I'd be laying an egg in the rookery like a proper gargoyle mutant. What would the product of our conception be, anyway? Human? Monster? Ho boy.

My stomach growled loudly, and I heard Severus' do the same.

Food. We should definitely do something about that before hunger drove us to eat my neighbour's annoyingly yappy poodle. My other neighbours would probably give us a medal if they weren't busy screaming their heads off and running from us like we were the spawn of Satan. Truly, they should be more worried that we were the spawn of Albus Dumbledore. He was by far more of an immediate threat

"We should probably find the source of that glorious breakfast smell," Severus rumbled into my ear, pressing all of my buttons from head to toe as thoroughly as if he'd run his finger along my spine. The feel of his paws against my fur did such wonderful things to me. I could feel each of my tentacles shudder in pleasure and approval.

"Do we have to?" I muttered. His wings were so warm and comfortable. Damn it all.

"Unless you want me to predate on your neighbour's little, yappy anklebiter for a snack, I would recommend we do," Severus chuckled.

"Fine," I acquiesced, "but I'm filing an official protest."

He pressed his palm to my cheek as a warmth spread across his face, making him appear years younger. "You are truly one of a kind," he told me, so much awe gathered in his eyes. I was hit with sympathy for the man who had never truly felt wanted until me. True, I hadn't either, but at least my parents had loved me enough that I had wanted to make them proud rather than punish them for being failures for most of my life. "Food would assist us in regaining energy for future endeavours requiring physical prowess," he said slyly.

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Mmmhmm."

He ran his muzzle against mine, our forms having completely defaulted to the more monstrous, yet the comforting warmth of his embrace cancelled out any thoughts of how strange it might be. I had long since become comfortable in my monstrous appearance. Accepting that there was someone like me that could share in it was new. Strange, wondrous, and blissfully new.

"Come," he said, taking the initiative and standing up, pulling me up. He summoned our robes with an open-handed gesture and silent, wandless magic. We were very much in our starkers, save for the fine collar of goblin silver that protected us regardless of form. Thankfully, our beast forms had fur and scales, so we weren't entirely unprotected from the environment.

We swirled our robes around our bodies, tugging them in place with practiced movements that even having talons didn't seem to affect the efficiency. I concentrated on changing into a human form, partially to match Severus but mainly so I could fit through the sliding door to my parent's garden. Nothing says love like a hole in the wall of your parent's house.

I felt exposed and naked without my fur, even with my robes on. My face felt funny without the whiskers there to give me sensory input, and my tentacles always grumbled at having to hide and flatten themselves against my back to prevent the obvious humped back granny-has-kyphosis look. My curly mane of almost-sentient hair puffed out in a manner that screamed for Sleekeazy's hair care products. Ironically, beast-mane was easier to tame. Who knew?

A helpful pair of tentacles straightened my collar and pulled my hair back around my ears before disappearing down my back. "I'm not sure I could handle a cure," I said after a moment. "If there was one, that is." It was the random epiphany. "I would miss them, always being there, fussing with my collar and my hair."

"I have come to enjoy their company since having enjoyed your company," Severus admitted with a tug of a smile on the corners of his mouth.

Our tentacles hissed and growled nervously, having apparently detected a sinister plot to get rid of them, and I soothed mine with caresses. "Don't worry, loves. I wouldn't be me without you." They rubbed against my fingers for reassurance. Despite their being attached to me, it was almost endearing that they were insecure. Touching them made them real, and the more I did it, there was a kind of serene pleasure in it— a comfort. It was odd to admit, as I'm sure most minds would find being suddenly equipped with tentacles as being a scary situation, but I'd practically grown up with them. They were there for me when no one else was.

My whiskers and shadow poked me, reminding me that my tentacles weren't the only ones there for me. _Just for future reference, guys, when I say I can't do without you, I mean all of you, you crazily insecure lot. Gosh._

Severus busied himself putting the garden to rights after our night doing our best to smash it up. _Sorry about that, mum._ He gave me this look that said everything and nothing at all— serene and tender, and so wholly alien to the image I had of him back when I was once his student or even when I was only pretending to be his student. The scowl of perpetual scorn was replaced with an almost shy reverence. His touch, which I had always speculated as being rough and oafish and unaccustomed to gentleness, was light and respectful, needful, and tender.

It was childish, really. Anyone who know how delicate potion making was in the advanced levels would know his hands had to be the most intricate akin to that of a neurosurgeon in the Muggle world. I wondered if he could brew healing ointment in a soup can while diving under a falling door grate like I had to to pass my mastery.

"No," he said, answering my unspoken ponderings, a tug of a smile on his lips. "I do my brewing stationary."

 _Legilimens now are you?_ I thought back to him.

 _I can hear you,_ he whispered into my mind. _I can hear_ them _too,_ he added. He jutted his chin towards the inside of the house where gargoyle pups were rampaging in my mum's kitchen.

I blinked. I heard him clear as day, his voice in my head rumbling with that same knee wobbling purr of molten lust I had never known until him. Good grief.

His smile was very Slytherin, eyes flashing with his cherished secrets— that he knew how to bring me pleasure and that he alone had done it. It was a very male look, possessive and protective wrapped together in a burrito of Severus-ness. His very name reminded me of dark, passionate things, and I was suddenly very glad that this epiphany had not come back when I was trying to be an underaged student in his class. My cover would have failed six times over with a side of chips.

Stop thinking about him having his way with you on top of his desk, Hermione!

I blushed, mortified, as Severus' lips curved up in an evil grin.

Oh, Merlin, he _knew_. He saw that.

He—

I used that as an excuse to flee, hurriedly running back into the house and leaving him by himself, the sound of his laughter in my mind too much to bear.

I found my parents' kitchen full of gargoyle pups— all of them set about tasks under the watchful eye of Bastion, Amelia, and Alastor. Bastion had this look of smug I-know-what-you-did written about every curve of his body. Amelia had a twinkle in her eyes, and Alastor— well imagine what _YOUR_ father would do if he imagined you having sex with anyone. Multiply that by fifty-six and three quarters.

Merlin, just shoot me now. Right in the heart and let me bleed out. Anything was better than facing my elders after having destroyed my parent's garden with our maddened passionate lovemaking. Better, just Avada Kedavra me straight to the face.

Wait, no, that would give me another tentacle. With my luck it would the sassy, horny tentacle too. Fuck.

 _Language, Hermione. Sheesh._

"Hermione, Her-mio-neeee, _**Her-MIO-neeee!**_ " Sabine called, flapping her wings together in a clapping noise to get my attention. "We made you breakfast!"

"I see that," I said, scooping her up and cuddling her mercilessly. "I could smell it from outside. Thank you all so much."

The pups all clapped their wings happily, proud of themselves.

"Are you done trashing the garden?" Bamf asked, earning a swat from Bastion.

I shook my head. "Yes, quite finished," I said with a sigh.

"Ooo, we can go play in the garden now?"

"Play?"

"Play!" the other pups cheered. They all looked at me expectantly.

"Have you eaten?" I asked, trying to be somewhat responsible.

They all nodded at me.

"Go play then," I said.

"Yay!"

The pups stacked on each other to open the sliding door and then pulled it open, dashing out in the garden and practically bowling Severus over in their enthusiasm. Gargoyle pups had no fear, and it was never so apparent that seeing what they got away with. No human child would have dared accost Severus' person unless they were completely mental.

Then again, the pups had a bond with us both, now. They knew his heart— hell, they had known our hearts before we did—so being afraid of Severus would have been terribly illogical. If human children could be so insightful all of the time, there would be far fewer stupid accidents in the world.

I shook off my embarrassment long enough to focus on Amelia and Bastion. "You're looking quite smugly satisfied, Bastion. Has Amelia convinced you to move some of the family to the Department of Mysteries?"

Amelia grinned widely. It was a very satisfied grin. There went all of our silly illusions of privacy, not that I had many. I knew perfectly well what gargoyles were like. Much like lions on the grasslands, they didn't really care who was watching. They enjoyed my awkwardness, too, finding it rather quaint.

"I think we have come to a most satisfactory agreement," Amelia said with a wink. Inwardly, I was happy. The gargoyles were my family in many ways, and having them close would make me feel better. It would also expose the pups to more people in a way that promoted mutual teamwork and learning. Who knows what kind of wonderful things could come from such a partnership?

"The pups left you breakfast," Bastion said with a chuckle. "They even left you sausage."

"Amazing," I replied with a grin. "They love their sausages."

"Only because the priests shamelessly spoil them with it," Bastion said. "Since time immemorial."

I beamed. The old priests understood and accepted gargoyles. They were one of the few "Muggle" people who had a long history with the magical creatures. While the stories about them changed to fit the religion of the cathedral, the symbiotic relationship between gargoyles and the places they protected remained strong— even if only in secret. Clandestine relationships were a part of history, both magical and Muggle. Powerful ones such as with the gargoyles remained so regardless of place. They were powerful allies to be protected as fiercely as they protected their home.

Amelia was no idiot, and she knew what a gift the gargoyles would be to the DoM. She earned my respect, not just for showing wise decisions, but also respect for Bastion and the pups. Unlike so many other people, who liked to judge gargoyles on their animalistic features over their minds and hearts, Amelia judged others on the evidence before her. It was no wonder she and Alastor got along so well. I knew he respected her too, and even without the other things she had done to prove to me she was a worthy boss, his respect alone would have done it for me too.

"Your mam and da are safe away, lass," Alastor said with a tender expression. "They said to tell you they love you and that you better have plenty of pictures of their grandchildren, war or no war."

I could feel my ears reddening.

Good grief. My parents could make me feel like I needed to hide under the sofa, even from Australia.

One of my tentacles busied itself by stuffing a sausage in my mouth, having decided I wasn't tending to my needs fast enough. I chewed gratefully.

As Severus came in, I handed him a heaping plate of food that had been so lovingly prepared by the pups. His eyebrows raised, but he took it gratefully and sat on the kitchen stool to devour it.

Amelia sipped her tea, watching us both eat. "I figured we could go over what we've been planning for you two, as we don't want to tip our hands to anyone yet. The last thing anyone wants is for Dumbledore to find out either of you are still alive— and we are hoping those runes on your bodies don't give your being alive away."

Alastor shook his head. "We have agents out and about, and they came back with stories. One rumour has Remus Lupin out trying to butter up the werewolves to join some sort of cause, but ever since Fenrir Greyback showed up trussed up like a holiday ham on my office desk, no one has seen him. Lupin that is. I feel as though Lupin may know where Potter is, and I feel that Nymphadora Tonks may know where Lupin is."

Nymphadora. Nymphadora. Where had I—

"She was a member— _is_ a member— of the Order of the Phoenix," Severus said, pausing in his devouring of his eggs. "Pink hair. Shifty features."

"Metamorphmagus," I said thoughtfully. "I can't remember her very well. That isn't like me."

"No, it's not," Alastor said. His wand went to my forehead, and I didn't flinch. I trusted him.

I felt the tingle of his magic tickle my grey matter, and I watched his expression go from curious to suspicious. "You have very few memories of her," he said. "Odd, because I have many. Many that include _you_ as well."

I looked at him strangely.

"If I said Tonks got married, what would you say?" Alastor said.

"Good for her?" I answered.

"Well _that_ explains why Tonks was so angry," he said with a sigh. "She got married to Remus Lupin but a year ago. She told me you were supposed to be there, but you never showed. At the time, I didn't even remember who you were, so I thought she was completely mental for wanting to invite some random student to her wedding. I didn't remember. I didn't even consider that Tonks had known you because of me."

Amelia frowned. "We know that Albus Obliviated you, Alastor. It doesn't stretch us too far thinking he probably tampered with her memory as well."

" _ **Why?"**_ Alastor yelled, slamming his fist down. "What purpose would that serve?"

Severus curled his tail around mine and shared his warmth. "Because he wanted her to be alone. When you are alone, you have nothing to lose."

"You do what you are told," I said coldly, a flicker of my old mask crossing my face. "No one _cared_ like he did. No one _understood_ like he did. I followed every order without question. Without fail."

"I remember that night— the night of their wedding," Alastor said. "I had to leave the reception early because I got a Patronus saying we had five magicless Death Eaters wandering around Waltham Forest, London. Later that morning, we had two dead in Lambeth— sliced to hell by their own people. Had we not found the ones in Waltham, they'd have all been dead."

Severus washed off his plate and put it on the drying rack before sitting down again. He wrapped his tail back around mine, perhaps sensing my detachment. "The Dark Lord loathes only one thing more than Muggles and Muggle-borns," he said. "And that is worthless underlings. Nothing is more worthless to him than a magical person who is no longer magical."

"How did he react to his people being drained of their magic?" Amelia asked.

"He was livid," Severus replied. "He was also extremely paranoid and as fearful as any wizard who realises that the very thing that makes you special can be taken away. All of his genius would mean nothing if he couldn't defend his throne."

"He sent many of the unmarked out to find out who or what was taking out his people," he continued, "but you can imagine how _that_ panned out."

Amelia and Alastor looked at me. "I found them raping a woman in Knockturn Alley. They had kidnapped a young Muggle woman and dragged her off to a dirt infested grime-hole where the bastards took turns seeing how many times they could pound into her before she lost her mind." I could feel the ice gathering behind my eyes as I lingered in the place that felt nothing. "I left them bereft of their magic, gibbering nonsense, and having soiled themselves. I trapped them inside her memory of them defiling her. I let them relive all of her terror and humiliation, but I left them _alive_."

Anger and pity vied for dominance across Alastor's face. Horror and disgust twisted Amelia's happy face into one of loathing.

"I wouldn't have," Amelia admitted, "and I wasn't even trained to be an assassin."

"I'd have— you just don't—" Alastor was speechless. Most Wizarding society was rooted in what Muggles believed were olden-day traditional values. You don't hit women, but the male is expected to provide well for his wife. You get a witch pregnant, you get married. Sometimes that was very literal, thanks to magic. Take Severus and myself, for example. Our magic had mated along with us. We were now one entity with two parts. If that wasn't married, well, it was close enough. Mind you, most teenage closet-gropers weren't exactly thinking with the head on top of their neck, either, but if you think about it, magic had its own way of insuring the lines continued. Magic found a way.

Somewhere along the line, Merlin-knows-who came up with the contraceptive potion because some brilliant person understood that it wasn't the Dark Ages anymore and getting married and magically bonded the moment you were gifted your menses was probably-not-a-good-idea. Human libido, like most sexual drives across the planet, didn't always go hand-in-hand with mental maturity. The difference was, most immature animals either got the shite beaten out of them by their betters, thus cutting them off from breeding, or they died a horrible death of starvation because they couldn't hunt well enough to stay alive. Humans, well— there were cases of them getting the shite beaten out of them by their betters, but it wasn't always about breeding rights. Humans could just pick a reason from a bowl and run with it. Take this Wizarding War for example—

The truth was, Death Eaters, Dark wizards and witches, Snatchers, Voldemort groupies, and whoever else jumped on the bandwagon of excuse for moral depravity were all rebels trying to push the boundaries of a social norm and change it to their desires. Normally, rebels get pounded into paste and life goes on, but these rebels had a powerful spokesman and figurehead turned homicidal psychopath that had no problems killing normal folk to get what he wanted.

Normal people, wands or not, don't want to be in a crusade. They want to live their life, go to work, have their 2.5 kids, a dog or a Kneazle, and bring home enough galleons, dollars, pounds, or yen not to starve. Some are more successful than others. Some even enjoy their jobs, but not everyone wants to be inspirational. Not every person can move people to _do_ something. Gifted people are motivators. They have a dream, and they get people to share that dream. Better yet, those people do things in the name of their dream.

Once upon a time, Hogwarts was founded on a dream of a safe place for students to come and learn magic, protected from those that didn't understand. That dream became reality, but few today truly knew what a gift such a place was. Today, Hogwarts was accepted as the place to go to school, at least if you were in Britain. Now, Voldemort was a different sort. He saw the world in a twisted reality where he was on top and Muggles were on the bottom. He grabbed the people who had the most to lose— people of high society who liked their parties, estates, and status— and twisted their fears into fanaticism. However, once the most influential people were swayed, others just joined the me-too wagon: people who wanted to hurt other people, people who just wanted to be on the winning side.

But something had changed when Voldemort had died to his own spell back in 1980. Voldemort lost the highly charismatic presence that charmed and moved people with his wit and comeliness. He changed his tactic to intimidation and fear, using those that had sworn him allegiance to spread the fear to others. It was a vicious tangle.

Severus had been placed as a spy in Voldemort's inner circle when it became obvious his magical skills did not include what Dumbledore had wanted. Then, Albus had molded me into what he did want. But something had changed. Either I had eliminated everything he had needed, he had truly expected me to deal with both Fenrir and Severus in one night, or he had believed I had outlived my usefulness and sent me to be murdered by a desperate Snape: an agent he had molded to protect his cover at all costs.

Why hadn't we killed each other?

My shadow was leaning on Severus'. I felt a shiver of pure pleasure jolt down my spine and curl my toes.

Oh. Well, _that's_ a good reason.

Severus' nostrils flared, and his eyes were blacker than black. He stared at me with interest on top of interest, and I had to dig my claws into my palms to keep from shifting right there and pouncing my mate on top of the kitchen counter in front of witnesses.

Good grief.

Why couldn't I stop thinking about his long, delectable tongue.

Stop it!

Oh. My. God.

I dug my talons into my palms and tried to imagine Moody-dad naked.

One. Two. Three.

Calm. Serene. Ocean tranquility.

"Stop thinking about Severus naked and focus, Hermione," Moody snapped in that voice that usually said "Arrest that wizard and make it hurt."

I stared at Alastor, swallowing hard. Damn, this was hard. Send me out to magically assassinate someone. Please. That required less mental yoga.

At least Alastor wasn't thinking violent thoughts against the kind of scum-suckers that would rape a woman in a dark alley.

Amelia jerked her head up. "Forgive me," she said. "For a moment, I considered— I actually wanted— to send you after every one of those bastards that are still alive and make them bleed."

Business talk was the equivalent of ice over a raging erection or that time that the Weasley brothers busted open a box of enlarged baby wolf spiders and their brassed-off spider-mum over their baby brother's coital tryst in the broom closet. My emotions shifted and dissipated behind the alien mind of the beast. Dispassion and apathy were my mask and Occlumency my tool. "I would not fault you for it," I said, and it was true. Business was business. I had dealt with marks far too long not to compartmentalise.

"Having the two of you is like being handed the keys to a Muggle nuclear warhead," Amelia said. "I can never forget how dangerous and effective you are at what you do. I can never allow _my_ emotion to cloud my judgement to send you into war for my causes, no matter how just I may see it at the time. Emotion is no way to make a decision."

I ran my tongue across the front of my teeth. She was emotional, but she was able to harness it and rein it in. She wasn't an Occlumens, but she knew how to shield her thoughts. The difference was subtle. While Severus and I obfuscated, she built strong walls guarded by mental dragons. She wanted to know when someone was picking through her mind, not distract them into thinking they got what they needed and let them walk away.

It wouldn't save her from someone who was willing to break her to get to the information, but no casual sweep would just pick information out of her head.

 _Unless it was one of us_. Severus looked at me, his dark eyes fathomless.

 _Yes, but we were created to pick every lock, weren't we?_ I thought at him.

I frowned. Yet, I had somehow missed Albus' true intentions over and over again. I had failed to see what was right in front of me. How?

 _You trusted him_ , Severus said, his tail wrapping around mine. _There is no shame in that._ _He molded you since you were eleven._

 _Why do I feel like such an idiot?_ I said, staring at him.

His tail tips caressed my skin with tender rubs. _Blame the right reason, my she-beast. Blame the one who really deserves your rage._

 _The last time I blamed the right person, you wouldn't let me go after him,_ I accused, tail tip twitching.

Severus rubbed the underside of my tail. _There is a right time for everything._

 _And when is that?_ I asked.

 _Not now,_ he said cryptically.

I mumbled, but my tail was tightly corkscrewed around his.

How had I become so dependent on the feel of his skin against mine?

 _Mrrr,_ Severus said.

Probably the same way he had become so attracted to mine.

"The second bit on intel tells us that V-man has put Ollivander on his hit list," Amelia said.

I had to scoff a little at the 'V-man' name, but apparently Voldemort had some sort of magical taboo on his name that alerted him as soon as it was spoken. Say his name aloud, and he had a tendency to show up and murder you. Society didn't much care for that, so Voldemort became He Who Shall Not Be Named, or V-man for short. Why couldn't they just call him Vafrous, Vagous, Valienton, Vasy, or Mr Vauntiness. Oh, Vauntage! That would work. He seemed like the braggart, boasting sort. I see you have come to the meeting, Mr Vauntage. Glad you could make it. No? How about Mr Vasectomy? Venefic? Virose? He was quite poisonous and foul. It was fitting.

"We have no idea if the hit list is for killing or for kidnapping, but it promises to be bad. While determining Harry Potter's location _is_ important, if we are having issues finding him, so is V-man, and that works in our favour. I don't think I need to stress to you just how important Ollivander is regardless."

Maker of the best wands in the world? No, whatever do you mean?

"Alastor and I decided it would be best to ask you which mission you believe you could handle best," Amelia said. "The other, we will task to the double-o teams.

I felt Severus' answer as I came to the same conclusion. If V-man wanted to take out Ollivander, he would sent multiple people at once and probably take out half of Diagon Alley to do it. Innocents would be harmed, possibly killed. While finding Harry Potter was important in the long run, no one actually knew why. What was he doing out there? Where was he? Why couldn't anyone find him?

Something suddenly occurred to me. "Has anyone traced Ginny Weasley's location?"

"She's at one of our safe-houses along with Ronald," Alastor said. "She's pregnant, and her brother Ronald and she got in a big row. He side-alonged with her to take her home, and then he couldn't find his way back to Potter. Apparently he has some sort of anti-tracking charm on him."

"So Harry's out there… alone," I said after a while. "So chances are if Ronald and Ginny don't know where he is, Remus won't either, and us looking for him could easily get him killed."

"Albus still has invested considerable interest in Lupin," Severus said with narrowed eyes. "He will unlikely allow one of his favoured Gryffindors to die."

I'm not sure what that made me. I was a Gryffindor too. Was I favoured or simply a tool?

"All favour turns to ash with Albus," Severus said grimly. "Eventually, it ends. He deliberately allowed Black to rot in Azkaban for over a decade. He forced him to stay cooped up in Grimmauld Place with a hippogriff as his only regular companion. He also restricted all direct communication, so when Mr Potter believed his godfather had been kidnapped and tortured, he walked right into a trap without a moment's hesitation."

Amelia drummed her fingers on the counter. "Communication would have saved the Potter's lives back in the day."

Severus closed his eyes, and then I remembered that he'd put himself into Mungo's trying to defy a life-debt demand that he never again contact Lily or James Potter again. Had Dumbledore known? Had he purposely set them up to die?

Alastor slammed his hands down on the counter. "He'll been leading us around by the nose for bloody _years_ ," he hissed. "Giving us just a little information to rile us up. Then, he'd send us off in the 'right' direction… at least, the direction he wanted us to go in."

Amelia straightened her shoulders and closed her eyes, making a decision. "I need you both to get to Ollivander before the Death Eaters do. You have my authorisation to use deadly force should you encounter any trouble. Do not permit anyone to escape back to the Dark Lord. Do not be seen by anyone but Ollivander."

Severus and I stood together. We both used the same tilt of our heads as we cracked our necks and let the shift consume us completely. Fur and scales replaced tender skin. Wings unfolded with a stretching sound as our robes faded away. Our tentacles hissed and unfurled, no longer bound by the robes. The familiar stretch of skin over bone sounded like tearing as my muzzle elongated, exposing dagger-like teeth, and my teeth clicked with a snap as oddly iridescent drool dripped from each of the pointed tips of my fangs.

It felt like waking up. The change was like reverting to what I truly was, stretching out my body as one would when yawning in the morning. I was unfolding my true self as my tentacles unfurled themselves from my back.

Severus rumbled, a low growl and clicking noise joining together in a language that was meaningless to all but those like us, no, _specifically_ us. He and I were one and the same. Our mixtures of genetic exposure were now fully balanced because we had, ahem, been intimate.

What's mine was his and all that.

I replied, click-growling at him in return as he rubbed his muzzle against mine. Perhaps, it simply a way to soothe and reassure ourselves of each other's solidarity. It wasn't like we needed to speak aloud anymore. A part of me thought we'd both give the alien hunters from the Muggle movie _Predator_ a run for their money. The thought amused me.

Once our bodies finished rubbing against each other, we turned to Amelia and bowed slightly. "It shall be done," I said, the words coming to me as automatically as if I was will Albus again. Despite it all, the familiarness in which one received and acknowledged orders was a comfort in itself. My wing spur curled around Severus', and I met his gaze.

 _ **Crack**_.

The Disapparate yanked us away.

* * *

The moment we arrived, we were both hit with two Unforgivables direct to the chest. Considering we had just Apparated to the front of the building like normal people, this made me a tad cranky.

Seeing as we were in battle conditions, Severus and I shed all pretense of humanity, and we immediately slammed our paws against our collars, dropping the aura glamour that worked in tandem with our dna-coded glamour potion. Two new tentacles rose from our backs, wobbling dizzily as whatever process that created them imbued them with sentience and magic.

Pulling Disillusionment around us, we stormed through the giant hole in the front store facade. The store was still alive with curses being thrown, and I could see Ollivander defending himself with fervor. He was doing admirably, but he was only one man, and Death Eaters do not play fair.

"Hem, hem!" I heard a sickly-sweet female voice say mockingly. "I told you that if you cooperated things would go better. _Why_ must you insist of being difficult?"

"You'll have to excuse me, Madam Undersecretary," Ollivander said in polite gasps of strained courtesy. "I fear I find it hard to believe you with you come into my store with a bunch of spell-flinging Death Eaters!"

"Now, now," Umbridge hissed. "None of these fine people are Death Eaters."

"I remember every wand I've ever made, Madam Undersecretary," Ollivander said. "I also remember who they went to."

 _Get their attention, love?_ I asked Severus.

I felt his smile in my mind. _I would love to,_ he replied _._

Our shadows surged forth and instantly drove all the other shadows away.

"I'll have you know," Umbridge announced, "that raising a wand at my person carries a very stiff penalty!"

"Not as many penalties as I would suffer if I _didn't!_ " Ollivander retorted defiantly.

"Take him!" Dolores cried furiously. "Just take him! Take him! Take him!"

Her time with the centaurs clearly hadn't improved her disposition in the slightest. Pity. Why Albus had insisted on parlaying with the centaurs and wading in to save her sorry arse was beyond me. If anyone deserved to be drop-kicked by centaurs it was Umbridge. Albus had said something about not being able to guarantee that the centaurs wouldn't do something unseemly to Umbridge, and my opinion had been strangely mercenary and even borderline sociopathic. I lacked any sort of emotional concern for the toad of a woman. I'd watched her use blood quills on my "peers" and use Veritaserum on students. She, unlike me, took great pleasure in torturing young people who had literally done nothing but act like normal human beings. She made the most bloodthirsty of beasts look like saints. I was a beast, through and through. What was her excuse?

" _ **HrrrrrrrRRrrrRrrrRrrrrrrrrr,"**_ came Severus' rumbling pre-roar. Like the pulling back of the tides before the rush of the tsunami, the floor quaked, the shelves rattled, and scores of wand boxes went tumbling to the floor. " _ **RRRRAAAAAAAEEEEEEEEEEHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"**_ he roared, shaking the walls so hard that the pictures fell off the walls and the wand cabinets teetered and crashed to the floor as if felled by an earthquake.

Terrified Death Eaters went flying in all directions. Spells went zinging through the air. Spells hit the walls, themselves, and wands on the shelves. The wands exploded with magic, randomly rising out of their boxes and casting random spells in equally random directions. Our shadows picked two of the people closest to Ollivander and replaced their shadows, paralysing them in place as Severus and I let the cloaking spell drop.

No longer playing with our food, Severus and I linked wings and a blast of magic locked down the entire store. Now no one could get in, and no one could get out. Our powerful tails lashed out together, and the shelves collapsed like they were made of nothing more than dominos.

" _ **Rrhhrr KEH KEH KEH!"**_ I coughed a barking snarl. My teeth bared as a lurid green spell struck me in the face, and one more agitated tentacle rose up from my back. At this rate, sleeping on my back was not going to happen _ever_ again.

Severus replied with a rolling, " _ **Rrrrr KEK RrrRRRrr HEK!"**_

We smiled together, our lips pulling back from our venom coated teeth. "You are under arrest," I purred, my voice sounding oddly twisted through my fangs.

"You do not have to say anything," Severus continued, "but it may harm your defence should you mention when questioned something which you later rely on in Wizengamot."

"Anything you do say may be given in evidence," I said, my tongue sliding against the outside of my teeth.

" _ **KILL THEM!"**_ Umbridge screamed shrilly.

A blood-red beam slammed into my muzzle. Really? Didn't you just _see_ what the first five hits did to me, you incompetent slag?

 _Language, Hermione. Gosh._

My tentacles plus one hissed together in agreement. They all wanted to give her an especially tight "hug."

Severus growled lowly as a few more hit him, and since he was standing slightly ahead of me, he was gaining even more tentacles than me. He was catching up quickly. Privately, I was quite happy with this, as I found them quite sexy and alluring. Healthy tentacles meant a healthy mate. It was all perfectly logical.

*cough*It-had-nothing-to-do-with-how-pleasurable-they-were*cough*

Nothing to see here. Just keep moving along.

My tail whipped out, wrapping around one of the attackers and crushing them until their ribs cracked with a very satisfying crunch, and I flung them into one of their friends with a snarl. I could smell the stench of urine and feces, and I knew my demonstration had the appropriate effect. Some of them were only now realising just what they were casting at, and their fear was starting to season the air with a distinctive tang.

Severus had one Dark Wizard by the neck, and his body was frozen over him for a feed, only his was not like mine. Bitter cold radiated off of him, turning the warm breath in the air to steam, and had I been a human the effect alone would have chilled me to the bone. The wizard was paralysed in fear, and my mate fed, draining the wizards any and all positive thoughts, happy memories, and will pretty much as a Dementor would. I should have been appalled, but it made me happy that my mate was coming into his full powers, now that they were no longer suppressed by the Dark Mark.

Dumbledore had considered him a failure, and he hadn't even realised what he had really made. The monster inside me approved. What didn't kill us literally made us stronger— and my mate was making up for lost time after every spell he had been hit with at V-man's sick little "parties." The thrum of sheer power from him made me purr, venom dripping from my teeth in the pleasure of it's magical siren song, only I didn't want to devour the magic. I wanted to roll in it and make babies in it.

 _Oh, Merlin. Brain, you just stop right there. Right there, buddy. Go rediscover your bookworm self, the one who didn't understand the concept of sexual appeal._

Severus jerked his head up, nostrils flaring as drool dripped from his fangs. He gave me a look, such a very _male_ look that it made my knees weak.

 _Snap out of it, Granger! Copulating on top of a bunch of terrified Death Eaters is not how you want to meet Garrick Ollivander! Damn, you find a mate_ default, but I told it to shut the front door. Gosh, a girl needs to have _some_ bit _and you become a lustful, rampaging she-beast._

Part of me registered the argument that I _was_ a rampaging she-beast but for some random bit of humanity to cling to. Somewhere. Maybe. Buried deep underneath my fur and tentacles.

Severus purred at me, making growling and clicking noises. He handed over the limp body of the Death Eater, one claw digging into the Marked arm as if to punctuate his idea. My lips pulled back from my teeth as my tentacles swarmed around the wizard, and my paws clutched his head like a vice.

"Naughty boy," I growled, seeing nothing but terror in his eyes. He was screaming silently, but inside his mind it was not quite so silent.

I called to his magic, and it surged up to join with me. It couldn't escape him fast enough, surging up my tentacles and into my body and joining with the endless lake that gathered magic as one would collect some other sort of mundane thing. His magic, vile going down, but the moment it joined with me, it was assimilated. My magic converted it into something universal— something _alive_. My tentacles thrummed with pleasure as they pulled away from the virtual husk of a man, and I let his body thump to the floor. His eyes were glassy, and his skin pale. His mind was locked in all we had left him with: a world sans pleasure of any kind, a world without magic. Severus purred and rubbed against my neck, and I returned the affection. Such a good mate. Strong. A proper provider.

I purred. One feed was enough to make my inner magic lake very happy, but there were others here. And I wanted it.

" _ **Hrrrrraaaaak!"**_ I growled, calling the magic, a thrum and pulse of my magic blew outwards and then pulled back in— luring their magic to answer the call.

I moved forward, purr-clicking. _Come. Come to me._

Severus snatched two that were walking, zombie-like to obey, even though their fear was dripping off them. _Treat your magic well, kiddies, because one day the piper comes to take what is abused away._

My mate drained them faster this time, leaving them stunned and alone in their heads with only the memories that pained them to keep them company. It was enough to incapacitate them. I did the same, draining each one of the magic and flinging them to the ground, and then we swapped piles. We paused every so often to groom each other, a little here, a little there, bonding over our spoils and prey. The thrill of excitement was all too clear. Suddenly, we weren't alone, and the great bounty lay before us.

A desperate wizard came at Severus, the glint of a blade being the only warning. Severus didn't bother to dodge, and only realised the error when the blade cut through the membrane of his wing. Severus roared in pain, and his wing buffeted outward as his tails wrapped around the wizard and squeezed violently. The knife went clattering to the ground as bones crunched.

I picked up the blade with my talons and growled, stomping forward like an erumpent on a mission. My talons wrapped around the wizard's neck as I brought the blade to his neck. My tentacles hissed at him, manifesting mouths to take bites out of him, latching on like angry geese to twist his skin as painfully as possible.

The blade was cursed, and it was no ordinary curse. Complex magic had gone into its making, and blood had been shed on it to make it crave violence and blood. It was magic harnessed and forced into a housing— the dagger— and it was the concentrated layers of magic that made its blade sharp. Sharp enough to wound my mate.

My teeth bared, centimeters from the wizard's face, my jaws poised to take off his head. Severus had let go of the wizard to nurse his wing, a soft whine of pain as he moved made me see red with rage. I pressed the blade to his skin, a fine, razor-thin line of blood moved across his neck where the blade eagerly tried to plunge itself into the man's flesh.

That's the thing about cursed blades. They don't care _who_ they hurt— even the wielder can become a victim. The blade, however, was magical, and I _knew_ what to do with magic.

As I pressed the blade to his neck, I breathed on it, calling the magic to me, and it came, surging out the pommel and up my arm, eager to join the rest. As the tainted magic came through, my magic surged over it, un-making it and tearing it apart before assimilating it completely. The blade turned to dust in my hands, the magic no longer there to hold it together.

My tentacles wrapped around the man and squeezed, and I drained him dry in a matter of seconds, paying no attention to subtlety. I didn't _care_ if it hurt him. I didn't _care_ if it damaged his kidneys. I didn't even care if he knew his own name afterwards. I took every last bit of magic from his life and flung him into the shelf across the room. The shelf collapsed and buried him alive in wand boxes and random marble sculptures that tumbled off the top of the shelf and landed directly on his crotch.

I turned to Severus, my snarl still on my muzzle. I reached out my tentacles and hands to touch his ripped wing membrane, sensing the disrupted weave of magic on his wing. The cursed blade itself had disrupted the flow of magic, making it difficult for Severus' changed body to heal itself. He was still learning what his body was capable of, but not for long.

I breathed on his wing to coax the magic back into order, then the fibres slowly seemed to realise they were not in the right places. They shifted, reweaving themselves into a strong, cohesive unit again, and the moment they came together, his flesh healed. He purred at me, and I nuzzled his chin with my head. All was well. Once exposed to a kind of magic, what didn't kill us made us stronger. That kind of blade wasn't going to give Severus any grief again, and I was glad of it. He, too, seemed relieved to know that he hadn't survived so long just to get taken out by a knife in the dark.

Another idiot decided to try their luck by throwing a dagger at Severus, and this time when he put up his wing to block it, the dagger pinged off it like it had hit solid marble. Severus glowered at the Death Eater with the same expression that sent students hiding under their desks rather than look him in the eyes. He growled, and I sensed he _knew_ this one. The others— perhaps they were newly Marked— had not elicited the sort of pure hatred that I felt from his mind.

The Death Eater had a mask on, and to me they _all_ looked like prey— all alike in that they were all food. As horrible as that sounds, it was the part of me that compartmentalised those worthy of parlay, that those that were only worth smearing into the ground. There was probably something telltale that Severus homed in on, something that gave him a clue of the man or woman's identity. I wasn't sure exactly what that was, but I trusted his senses implicitly.

Severus' tail whipped out, curling around the Death Eater and crushing him like an anaconda with prey. His talons stretched across his face, squashing the mask like a piece of thin foil. Wide, terrified eyes stared out at the beast, the scent of urine and alcohol assaulted my nose with its stench.

Only when the mask was removed did I realise who it was.

Rodolphus Lestrange.

Oh, how the mighty had fallen. He looked more haggard than his wanted poster. He smelled even worse. I picked up bits and pieces of old memories from Severus' mind. This was the one the Dark Lord "gifted" with the honour of punishing Severus when either Rodolphus did well or Severus did not so well. Either way, many a Cruciatus was used on Severus from the wand of Rodolphus Lestrange.

" _Half-blood scum," the memory hissed into his face, spitting at him. "Did you think the Dark Lord actually cares about you? He gave you to me for the night._ _ **EXPELLIARMUS!**_ " _Rodolphus stood aside with an evil grin as his brother and Bellatrix came in after. "And I always share with my brother."_

" _Ickle widdle Snapey," Bellatrix cooed mockingly as she dragged a jeweled silver nail claw across his arm. "You don't deserve this Mark," she hissed, digging her nail into his skin and making him bleed profusely. "Maybe I can make it bleed out of you."_

It seemed that even amongst those who were Marked with the Dark Lord's favour, there those who were far more equal than certain others. It was quite possible that the Dark Lord allowed these childish mind-games to keep his most loyal financial backers happy, for no war in the history of war was won without plentiful monetary resources. One must have an army and the foods with which to feed it. Some foods were morale.

I wondered who provided the big V-man his extra-long reach. I doubted that anyone coining himself the "Dark Lord Voldemort" would ever be content to live in squalor while trying to take over the world. Megalomaniacs always tend to believe that they are worth far more than that.

And while Albus Dumbledore sat on his golden throne at Hogwarts, playing his people like pawns in a game of Wizarding chess, where was V-man? Was he sitting in the chair opposing Dumbledore? Or were they playing entirely different games with shared pieces? Hell, were they stealing each other's pieces? Was it like the chefs on _Iron Chef_ that steal each other's white asparagus because all they got was green asparagus?

Hell if I knew.

Severus' talons draped over Rodolphus' face and he leaned in, draining away the man's will with any emotion that might have given him the least bit of pleasure or happiness. Freezing, bitter cold came off of him in waves, making our breath make clouds and icicles form on the shelves.

"You work for the Ministry!" someone yelled. "Pull that Dementor off my brother!"

Dementor?

Hah.

No one really knew what was under the black robes of a Dementor. It was only fitting they would think that Severus was a Dementor too. But, while my mate seemed to have acquired the Dementor's more terrifying gifts, he smelled much nicer, gave warm hugs, and was definitely number one on my cuddle list. Dementors not so much.

Well, maybe Umbridge might want to cuddle with one. She was definitely evil and twisted enough. I wondered if she even _had_ a soul.

Before Umbridge could say anything, however, Severus had finished his feed, and he passed Rodolphus to me as one would a dinner napkin or the platter of oysters. My lips pulled back from my teeth in what I hoped was a gloriously menacing smile of dagger-like teeth.

 _Come,_ I beckoned. _Join with me._

The Death Eater screamed silently as my tentacles wrapped around him and his magic flowed up through them and into me. I left him alone with his despair with not even magic to keep him company. With a disgusted snort, I flung him to the floor where he lay limp, still screaming soundlessly. He crawled to the feet of one of the other masked figures.

"Rabastan, brother," he wheezed. "Help me!"

Before I could even register what was going to happen, the Death Eater pointed his wand at the pitiful, crawling man. " _ **Avada Kedavra!"**_ he snarled viciously.

Wow. So much for brotherly love, eh?

If that is what purebloods had for familial love, I'd take my dirty Mudblood Muggle love any day of the week. I wasn't a fool. Not all Muggles had love figured out either, but at least my version of it didn't have me preprogrammed to murder my sibling the moment their magic was gone.

Severus and I realised with some clarity that thinking time was officially over. Now, we had to sweep up the mess, and while we had taken care of most of the problem, there was still an Umbridge rampaging around somewhere, Ollivander to find, and however many other Death Eater were hiding towards the rear of the establishment.

Our wing spurs touched briefly just before both of us flashed our teeth and surged forth in a blur of speed and our wing buffets extinguished every candle in the place.

"Lumos!" a voice cried in the dark.

Flick. Flick. Flicker. A wand sputtered to provide light in our magic-laden darkness. Dimness became true light as I smiled toothily. The light slowly crept over my face.

"Hullo," I purred as my tentacles wrapped around the witch's wrists like handcuffs, and I fed. Her wand went flying off into some dark corner of the shop.

Severus was feeding off the one I was pretty sure was Rabastan while his tails were keeping another playmate occupied. I didn't see any others, and I didn't see where Umbridge had gone, so I sent my shadow out to go fetch me some new toys to play with.

My shadow disappeared in a whoosh, and I waited to hear back, ears swivelling to listen for any other movement that wasn't already on the ground moaning. Just as I thought I would have to go find my own entertainment, my shadow returned and hacked up a Death Eater like a cat with a hairball.

I blinked. They could _**do**_ that?

I decided not to wait around and oogle, wrapping my talons around my latest guest as my eyes flicked to their arm. The Mark twisted and writhed on their skin, perhaps sensing that its bearer was in serious trouble. Did the Dark Lord know? Did he sense his people going down, one-by-one? What was the precise nature of the Mark?

It was _magic_. That was all I really needed to know. Magic was energy harnessed through will, will channelled into order, and order into purpose. All order could be dismantled. All magic was energy, and all energy could be returned to its natural state.

Ah, but what was magic's natural state?

I didn't know. That was the truth. There was no study, no book, and no scholar I could go to that would answer that question with a hundred percent certainty. I could say that there was something in me that allowed it to find "home" in me. There was a great peace inside me, and the magic liked to be there. It was even protective and territorial about it.

How did I know?

Oh, about a few dozen over-protective, needy, insecure tentacles that did their best every day to be there for me in a way no human friend ever could was a good start. And, now that I was bound to Severus, the magic was shared between us. It felt _good_ , this newfound balance.

So, when I called to this Death Eater's most unnaturally bound magic, the magic surged to answer my call. I might as well have been the shiniest galleon in a room full of tarnished pennies with a wide-eyed, treasure-seeking Niffler ready to pounce. It surged into me like a wave over the shore, sending tingles of its power down every inch of my skin.

" _ **RRRrrrRrrrrrrHHHHHHHHHKKK!"**_ I roared in declaration, my hot breath blowing back the Death Eater's hair, my venomous spittle spattering across the poor sod's face. Electric sparks zapped between my whiskers and tentacles as I drew in so close to his face, as if I were coming in for a kiss. "Was it good for you, lover?" I rumbled as his skin lost all colour, and he went completely limp.

I pulled a handful of "marbles" out of my beaded back and flung them in the air— only they weren't marbles at all. Each unfolded itself in a burst of bright blue and green, iridescent wings, a beast's elongated snout utterly ruining the illusion of some leathery butterfly creature.

Each latched onto a Death Eater's face with a squelching sound, wrapping their wings around their heads.

Swooping Evil. Such a fun name— made even more fun by the fact if you didn't feed them well enough, they liked to suck out people's brains. Mine were well fed, thank you very much. Well, thank Amelia very much. They also had the wonderful feature of being living Portkeys.

" _ **Skreeeeee-KEH!**_ " I shrieked, and every single Death Eater with a Swooping Evil Headdress immediately disappeared with a pop. The others returned to my hand, folding in on themselves to appear like marbles again, and I tucked them away in my beaded bag for later, should it come to that.

Severus was staring at me with a pouting expression.

"Next time, you get to dispatch them," I promised.

He seemed to cheer up at that. Boys. Boys and their toys.

His tail curled around mine, and I smiled.

A crash alerted us to there being at least one person left on our dance card.

"You're just delaying the inevitable!" Umbridge's voice screeched.

Severus and I exchanged glances. We extended our talons and pumped them up and down for Cloak, Stone, and Wand. Severus won.

I bowed at him in defeat, and he gave me a flash of shining ivory teeth before leading the way towards the crashing noises.

Umbridge awaited us.

It would have been terribly rude not to show up when she asked so very nicely.

* * *

Dolores Umbridge was a horrible excuse for life on earth, and I knew why the moment I saw what she was up to in the back room. Not only had she destroyed about everything in the place that was breakable, but she was pocketing trinkets that she liked, the same as a common thief. Then there was the—

"Mew!" a terrified cry came from the tiny kitten in her hand. She held it tightly around the neck, having obviously missed the class on how to handle felines in a safe, respectful manner.

"Mew! Mew!" the kitten cried frantically, writhing, squirming, and taking its teeth to the fleshy junction of her thumb and index finger.

Umbridge grew enraged, shaking the kitten harshly. "Stop that!" she yelled, crushing the poor kitten until it couldn't move.

"Mew!" a multitude of multi-coloured kittens squirmed in a woven hamper in front of her, and Dolores kicked it out of the way with her foot, and then she seemed to get an idea. She fetched the overturned hamper of punted kittens and picked it back up.

"Tell you what, Mr Ollivander," she said. "Since you won't listen to reason, I'm going to let _them_ do the talking. Oh, did I say talking? I meant suffocating."

Smirking evilly, she placed a spell upon the basket— some sort of orb. It was some sort of artefact that created it, and the kittens inside the hamper began to writhe and gasp for air inside it.

I felt Severus' rage inside my head like a roar of fury, and he sent his shadow out to do its work. Umbridge froze in place like some kind of horrible statue. He crushed her wrist with his talons as he pulled her into a dark embrace— the very opposite of a lover's touch.

The crushed kitten fell to the ground, and I lunged for it, catching it in my talons as I slid across the debris-strewn floor. It was unmoving, but my mind was also focused on the basket of suffocating kittens. My tail wrapped around the basket and yanked it to me, my vision trying to focus on the artefact she had put on the hamper's handle.

Tendrils of magic surrounded the artefact, and I could see its true purpose: to preserve objects in an air-free environment. Great for museums and document preservation, _not_ so good when used against sodding kittens!

While my mate dealt with Dolores Umbridge, and I trusted him to make her fate as horrible as she herself was, I breathed on the artefact and called its magic to me. I didn't bother being subtle, not when there were tiny lives in the balance. My tentacles manifested tiny, fanged mouths, and they snapped at it, sinking their fangs into the thing and shaking it like a dog with a bone. And the magic came rushing into me, draining from the object and causing it collapse into dust—a vague part of my mind deducing the dagger that had taken a piece of my mate and this object had come from the very same cursed cloth.

The sphere of anti-air collapsed, and the kittens mewled and cried inside the hamper. But they were mewling and crying— that was a good sign. I cradled the unfortunate victim of Umbridge's wrath, her tiny little body broken and battered, her breaths ominously shallow and weak.

A yowling came from under some debris, and I saw dark grey paws squirming and struggling to free themselves from beneath the fallen shelf. Desperate, heart-breaking yowls broke my heart in every direction. My tail reached over to lift the shelf, and a fluffy, grey Kneazle limp-bounded over to the hamper and quieted the mewling cries. His fur was puffed up with his distress, and he snuffled each one, licking them over until they quieted. But when he came over to inspect the injured kitten in my hands, his body drooped completely, defeat and despair radiating off him.

Severus dropped Umbridge's soiled body next to me, her face frozen in an utterly terrified expression. His shadow had released her when he had, but she remained too frightened to move.

Venom dripped from my teeth as my muzzle opened close to her face. "Do you get off on harming innocents wherever you may find them, Madam Umbridge?" Steam rose from my teeth as the acidic nature of my mouth seemed to lose pH value by the second. "I wonder. How much worth would you have to yourself when all your magic is gone?"

I stared into her wide, terrified eyes and very slowly licked my teeth. "Child abusers are the worse kind of scum," I said, the tips of my talons tapping on her skin. "People who harm those who cannot fight back— did it give you pleasure? Did it… turn you on?" I grimaced, my teeth coming ever closer to her face.

"I'll tell you what turns me on. Watching people like you get exactly. What. They. Deserve."

My free hand went over her face as my tentacles wrapped around her. _Come,_ I called, breathing directly into her face.

Her magic couldn't leave her fast enough. It burbled forth from her in a stampede of energy, leaking out every orifice she had to be free of her and come to me.

Yet, as I stared at the broken, battered body of the Kneazle kitten, watching the voids where its inherent beautiful magic was ripped away— I remembered what Masters Dewey, Cheatum, and Howe had told me.

" _Magic is energy, Hermione," Master Dewey said._

" _Energy is energy," Master Cheatum had said._

" _Energy that can be disrupted and removed can be replaced," Master Howe had said._

" _Energy is not created or destroyed," Master Dewey had reminded me._

" _And all around you is energy, everywhere."_

I stared at the magically drained kitten— having exhausted its entire being in a futile attempt to escape Umbridge's pitiless grasp.

Energy can be replaced.

 _Severus,_ I called.

 _Yes?_

 _Will you help me?_

 _Of course._

 _Help me channel the magic back into this kitten._

He wrapped his wing around me, keeping contact, and I let Umbridge's magic-less body fall to the wayside. I closed my eyes and envisioned the lake of magic inside myself— the seemingly endless pool of energy.

 _I need your help._

 _Help?_ I heard it as voices, many voices.

 _A kitten is dying,_ I explained. It's a magical beast. _Without magic, it will die._

 _An innocent_? The voices whispered.

 _Yes,_ I agreed.

Whispers went back and forth in the lake. Countless voices like the buzzing of bees in a hive.

 _We will help_ , I heard them say together.

I opened my eyes, and Severus gasped. I saw in his mind's eye that my eyes had gone completely black with only sparkles of magic running across them. They were like a starfield, swirling like a galaxy. I leaned over the broken kitten, and I breathed out.

But instead of taking away, I was giving back what should have been there all along. The magic slithered from between my teeth and surrounded the kitten, cradling it in misty energy. It went in its mouth and ears, threading through its soft fur and into the pores of its skin. It mended what was left in disarray, knitting back the fabric of magic that kept a Kneazle a Kneazle. My knowledge of healing magic guided the magic along, healing the bones, reordering the veins and arteries, mending the capillary beds, and aligning the muscle fibres. But it wasn't just healing magic— some of the magic lingered, seeping back into the kitten's flesh and becoming one with a new host body, leaving the collective of magic that was in me for the body that so desperately needed it.

The tendrils of remaining magic pulled away, carressing the kitten as if to say farewell, and it rushed back inside of me, rejoining the lake of magic within. I took a deep breath, and blinked.

"Mew!" the small kitten in my hands glomped my fingers and mock-mauled them, trying to wrap her tiny mouth around my talon tip. She was whole again.

The grey Kneazle hopped into my lap, unable to wait, and dragged the kitten out of my hands by the scruff of the neck and plunked her back into the hamper with her littermates. He groomed over every inch of her mewling, wriggling body until she let out a large yawn and fell asleep on top of her furry comrades.

I leaned against Severus, enjoying the warmth of his wings as my tail sought his and corkscrewed around it with automatic need.

"I didn't know we could do that," Severus said, purring against my ear.

"I… didn't either." My confession sounded so lame outloud, but it was true. I had no idea what magic would allow when left to its own choice.

"I can enjoy some irony in that the magic you put back into the kitten was the purified magic of that heinous woman over there," Severus said, jutting his chin in the direction of the sprawled witch.

I smiled. "Magic's choice, not mine."

Suddenly, the grey Kneazle let out a series of coughs, and each one made him grow bigger, taller, and more— wait, _what_?

Garrick Ollivander stood before us, his wizened eyes looked at us with nothing short of profound admiration. "Ms Granger," he said warmly. "Mr Snape. I seem to owe you a great depth of gratitude for the saving of my kittens. Especially Saskia. No kitten on this Earth had her big heart, and she walked right up to Madam Umbridge and tried to rub on her ankle."

I frowned in understanding.

"She takes after her mother," Garrick said almost sadly. "She married _me_ , after all."

"I… you—"

"For once, she doesn't know what to say," Severus said with a wry eyebrow lift. I glared at him, but my tail remained locked around his. It's not every day that someone recognises you when you look like a beast, but we also learned that Ollivander was— a Kneazle.

I looked into the hamper of sleeping Kneazle kittens and melted a little. "May I?" I asked.

"Ms Granger, you may handle my kittens anytime you wish. Both of you are welcome," Ollivander said. "Please, do call me Garrick."

"Hermione," I said in return.

"Severus," Severus said with a nod.

I scooped up the little kitten I had just saved, and she mewled sleepily, cuddling on the pads of my talons with drowsy contentment. "Hello, little Saskia."

"Mew!" she said. She had light brown fur that looked like sunshine was dappling her fur with tiny golden spots. No longer in danger of death, she looked adorable and healthy, and I was glad of it.

A purple kitten suddenly realised that her pillow was gone, and mewled unhappily. She crawled out of the hamper and pounced into Severus' lap with a sharp mew, digging her claws into his knee as she pulled herself up. She had a bright white face and mittens on her paws as well as a bright white tail tip, but the rest of her was a dark royal purple. She stared up at Severus adoringly, and set out to climb the tower that was Snape, using her claws to help give her purchase on him.

"That one is Evelien," Ollivander said with a smile. "No mountain is too high for her to climb."

"I noticed," Severus said with a quirk of his lips.

"The tawny little queen on the top of the pile is Stephanie," Garrick said with a little pride. Her mother spoils her silly, so she thinks she's the queen, but if you catch her when no one is looking, she's as sweet as pie. The peach one with the curly fur is Bianca, and the cinnamon-coloured one is Thea."

A brown and black-furred spikey tortoiseshell kitten with patches of orange, tabby, and stripes mixed in with his blond fur pounced out of the hamper and attempted to climb Severus' wing to get to the top before his sister. His littermate popped his head out from the hamper and mewled plaintively and tore a path up Severus' abused wing to get to the top before the other.

"The brown and black tortoiseshell miscreant is Tom," Ollivander said with a chuckle. "His brother, the blue and white tuxedo with the brown mop of fur on top of his head, is Martijn."

Ollivander tipped the hamper over and peered into it. He plucked out a sleepy dusky pink kitten with brown spots and a peach face. "This is Edwin. He runs around like his tail is on fire and then sleeps for hours to recoup."

My tail wrapped around the little bugger and cradled him. "Awww." I felt tears in my eyes. All of them were fluffy furballs of cuteness in overload, and I was a helpless victim.

My tentacles were inspecting each kitten with great curiosity, and the kittens were inspecting them right back, well, except for Edwin, who was passed out in a narcoleptic fit sleeping between Severus' ears. The room was full of warm mewling and the curious batting of tiny paws. After both of us had been scent-marked all over, and every kitten had been properly sniffed and recorded in our memories, they all fell asleep on cue in whatever random place they were at the time.

"Awww," I said, unable to help myself.

"Young full-Kneazles take years to grow up, unlike normal cats," Ollivander said with a smile. "They spend their first 'life' living as typical cats, getting into everyone's business, believing everything is theirs, and the rest of typical feline behaviour. They really don't graduate and become full Kneazles until they run out of standard feline lives."

"But how do—" I blushed. Way to go, Hermione. Let your mind just blurt out questions like you're thirteen again.

"Half-Kneazles, hrm?" Ollivander chuckled as he smiled at me. "Half-Kneazles never grow up, or at least, they never make that final transformation after all their lives run out. They stay kittens forever, or, at least, what adult full-Kneazles consider kittens. It's not to say they are childish. You can learn a lot in nine lives. They never learn to shift, either." He winked at us.

"Probably a good thing," Severus said. "Can you imagine the drama caused if the Ministry realised that the little old lady breeding half-Kneazles was actually forcibly introducing another sentient species into the world?"

My tentacles popped up and wavered, and I could practically see the little exclamation marks hovering over their tips. I soothed them with my hands. It must be strange living half of your life like a normal yet strangely long-lived cat and then, one day, waking up after your ninth death and realise you've become something more. Then again, literally having nine lives was something people joked about, but I don't think very many people actually believed it was possible.

Apparently, it was quite possible. Kneazles were more talented than most.

The kittens, now all snoring softly, transferred back into their hamper to sleep off the excitement, and I couldn't help but smile even wider at the pile of furry adorableness.

"So, my well-timed rescuers," Garrick said with a smile as he closed the hamper lid so his kittens could get a good nap. "I thank you for saving my life and that of my kittens. I am glad my wife is visiting the Netherlands at the moment to see family and check the shelters for unknown Kneazle kittens that slipped through the cracks. She travels the world looking for them. I feel I must ask. Do you know why I was targetted today?"

The calmness in which Ollivander took our beastly shapes truly surprised me. Even knowing he was a Kneazle didn't take that disbelief away. It was then I noticed that our Shadows, beastly as they were, were cradling Ollivander's Kneazle-shaped shadow. How had I never noticed that?

Garrick smiled. "Ever wonder why it was always so dim in this shoppe?" he said with a smile. "It's hard to keep a shadow without light."

Clever Kneazle.

Ollivander shrugged. "Glamours do the rest, if I am to appear in public under scrutiny. I'm sure the Wizarding world would be beside itself knowing that a Kneazle made their wands, hrm?"

"I think it's _**brilliant!**_ " I blurted, tentacles wriggling.

Severus sighed, shaking his head at my enthusiasm.

 _Party pooper. Gosh._

"Garrick," Severus said in all seriousness. "We are not sure why the Dark Lord wishes to have you, but the very fact that he does means you will not be safe after this. Not here, assuredly, and given your reputation as a gifted wand-maker, probably not anywhere as soon as they got wind of you."

"Well, unless you have an underground bunker somewhere, I'm not sure how I will be able to hide," Ollivander said with concerned frown.

I leaned in, my whiskers wriggling. "Maybe we do," I said with a bestial grin. "Care to take a tour?"

* * *

It took the double-o teams about five hours to move all of Ollivander's stuff into his new and improved, highly secure home down in the DoM. The reason was that everything had to be scanned for tracers or anything that could potentially be harmful. No one knew what things the Death Eaters had brought into the store along with them, and with the lives of his kittens in the balance, Ollivander understood the reasons well enough.

Amelia arranged for the very first ever Ollivander's Wand Shop to open inside the Ministry, conveniently located— oops, right next to the Aurors' Office. Darn.

The kittens charmed every Auror in the place, swaying them into their service as a true feline does to any human. Of course, only the Unspeakables knew the truth, the rest simply thinking that Ollivander's cats had been charmed with random fur by accidental magic thanks to all the children that came in every year to his shop. Some suspected they were half-Kneazles, which made me wonder… how many half-Kneazles were there, really? How many were actually full-Kneazles in whatever life they were on before the big number ten?

As it was, while Ollivander tended his new Shop deep within the protection of the Ministry, his kittens tended morale in the Auror's Office, refusing to let a warm lap or a mug full of writing quills go without their attentive paws batting at them. To add to the amusement, Crookshanks had taken to babysitting both gargoyle pups and kittens, and he did them simultaneously by besetting the pups on the Auror office too. Of course, they were all perfectly well behaved with Crooks when he was looking, but he was only one feline. Mischief inevitably happened, with kittens and pups tangled up in yarn, quills, and Spell-o-tape. The pups caught fish from the Atrium fountain with kittens mewling in excitement, and Crooks, poor Crooks, would snatch the fish and put it back in the fountain, swatting the pup on the nose and driving them all back towards the Auror Office.

Alastor said the office hadn't had so much fun in years. Apparently, it was a great time to be an Auror again, something he hadn't seen in quite some time.

Each kitten had adopted a gargoyle pup as their main pal, and the pups that didn't have a kitten seemed content to share in the side-glory, though jealously kitten-napping a friend for the afternoon wasn't all that uncommon an occurrence.

The Aurors were quite amused by the pup's protective instincts, and they would set a pup in charge of guarding the coffee in the break room just to frustrate the interlopers from other offices who tried to come in and steal "the good coffee" from the Auror's break room. What they made for coffee that made it so special was an Auror trade secret— well, a secret to anyone who didn't have a nose for spice. Aurors _loved_ Turkish coffee, and anyone who was anyone in the Auror Office drank it like it was life itself. Maybe it was the cardamon and cinnamon that made it so special. Maybe it was the organic honey from the very happy bees in the magical greenhouses or the fact that they brewed it over Occamy eggshells, I didn't know. I did know that it was all mixed together by an Auror they called Master Caffeine (which sounded better than Auror Dickinson), it was glorious. It was glorious enough that putting a gargoyle pup in front of the carafe was not entirely unjustified. There was also a certain amount of comedic value in watching someone attempt to get around the gargoyle pup that happened to be guarding it.

That, and Aurors really, really liked their coffee. I was a tea person, myself, but every so often you really _needed_ coffee. If you defined need by contemplating doing venipuncture on yourself to infuse the coffee into your bloodstream directly by way of gravity drip. While some things worked a little differently on magical folk than on Muggles, caffeine did indeed do wonderful things for both parties, maybe because coffee and tea were basically baby potions that anyone could make.

Severus and I were now the proud neighbours of the Ollivander Kneazle family, and I really couldn't be happier with that. The Kneazle kittens always found a way to sneak in past the wards and make pests of themselves, one time leaving trails of tiny kitten prints through our flour infested kitchen. Crookshanks plunked two flour-dipped kittens (Tom and Martijn) right in front of us one morning, causing me to sneeze them off the duvet. Despite this mischief, having Garrick and his wife, Lara, so close was nothing but a good influence.

Amelia enjoyed listening to his stories, and I don't think she was the only one that liked absorbing his knowledge and stories. It became rather clear that Garrick's experience through multiple lives helped him read wands and people very well indeed. All the kittens and the gargoyle pups would gather around to listen to Garrick talk about ancient Rome and Greece, and I found myself listening too.

Business, however, came back en force, as we tried to figure out what to do about the notorious trouble-magnet Harry James Potter and the Obscure-Quest-That-Led-To-His-Idiot-Friends-Abandoning-Him. I doubted that Harry had intended to fail as epically as he had, but I still wondered what the hell he was doing out there. Was he making any difference? Without Ron and Ginny at help him, how was he faring at all? What was his goal?

Had Dumbledore trained Harry as had he had Severus and myself? Had we been so blind?

"Doubtful," Severus said, answering my mental musings outloud. "While you covered up your intelligence with being an in-your-face know-it-all hand-waver, there was never any doubt you were intelligent. While he is definitely agile on a broom, that is hardly the end all test for being able to survive out there alone."

"He wasn't exactly a genius, Severus," I admitted, "but he wasn't a total moron."

Snape curled his lip with a familiar look of disdain. "If he applied himself, he would have been passable. Instead, he ran to you and simply asked all the right questions."

I flushed. I had helped him far more than I should have. Dumbledore told me to.

" _It is essential that Harry passes all of his courses, Hermione,"_ the headmaster had insisted.

Of course, you couldn't help Harry without helping Ron, and you couldn't help Ron without also helping Ginevra. It made we want to scream that Ginny was more into making oogly eyes at Harry than in paying attention to her work, yet she managed to pay perfectly rapt attention to all of the jinxes, curses and hexes she could use to torture her brother. Pity one of those lessons she paid attention to wasn't "Take your contraceptive potion every single month and on time."

"ID?" The bored-looking wizard at the table asked.

Severus glowered at the man, and I didn't really blame him We were going into a highly-secure medical facility, not a history lesson with Professor Binns.

The wizard stared at the space in front of him as if to wait for us to put our identification on the desk, but our "ID" was around our necks. If we took it off, we might put the man in the hospital if he got a hint of our true selves before the secondary glamour snapped into place. Garrick may be able to take monsters strolling into his shop and saving his life in stride, but I highly doubted if this man could or would.

Severus and I sighed together, slamming our hands against our necks to engage the uniform that struck fear into all those who saw it: the uniform of the Unspeakables. An ornate metal and crystal headdress crowned our heads as a our robes went pure white. A thick, white cowl covered our heads, exposing what remained of our faces, but even that was limited. A "cloth" covered our eyes, glowing orbs of light flicking behind them like flames. Our mouths were covered with an intricate "gag" that was actually a filter that made everything we said come out in a low hiss that made Parseltongue sound like baby-talk. We could understand each other perfectly, but anyone who wasn't was going to be in a world of hurt trying to decipher our speech.

There was a reason Unspeakables were called Unspeakables, and the badge of the office, so to speak, played on that. The idea was, you didn't _want_ anything or anyone interrupting you when you were on the job other than another Unspeakable. You didn't want to be identified, and unlike Death Eaters, who all wore a different design on their silver masks, all Unspeakables looked pretty much the same, save for the little bit of skin showing through the headdress. Of course, _I'd_ know Severus if he was covered in fifteen layers of rainbow and a welding helmet, but he could do the same.

Unspeakables dealt with dangerous things— artefacts and more— that were dangerous simply when someone knew about them. People who worked at the Ministry knew to give them a wide berth, yet there was an advantage to the uniform that had nothing to do with the job. You could remove the glamour and go out to tea with a friend, and your uniform wasn't on. You never revealed what you were outside of the job, and you were never screaming "Hi, I'm an Unspeakable! Target me!"

 _To be normal,_ Severus said in my head. _What a luxury._

I smiled.

We placed our "hands" down on the desk together— each one covered in specially enchanted, highly intricate Goblin silver. Through it, we could "feel" but it protected us from spells, toxins, curses, and all manner of bad things that if you are rummaging around in a store room full of artefacts you don't want it latching onto your skin and cursing you.

The goblins had their Curse Breakers, but unlike us, Curse Breakers relied on disarming traps before going into tombs and the like. Unspeakables dealt with the things Curse Breakers brought back and said "It's killed five people, and we don't even know how to classify it let alone _un_ curse it." Goblins loathed anything that could get in the way of their money. Nothing makes a goblin nervous like an expensive cursed artefact that refuses to be uncursed.

I had asked Amelia why the goblins didn't just have Cursebreaker uniforms like the Unspeakables did, but she said you could retire from curse-breaking. The amount of magic invested in a Unspeakable who actually wore the uniform guaranteed a job for life, or as Alastor said, a job until death.

The man stared at our hands and slowly looked up, eyes side. "Beggin' your pardons," he stammered. "Please, go right in."

We removed our hands from the desk and "floated" by him, leaving him to adjust his collar and be far more alert than he had been previously. Severus and I walked down the corridor silently, tapping our collars to change the uniform to the glamour that was least likely to cause Ginevra Weasley to have a panic attack and miscarry.

The room we wanted was a small, homey sort of room, with decor made to bring a touch of "home" to the patient. Since Ginevra was there for the long haul, the room had been filled with rustic furniture in warm, inviting colours and decorated charmingly so that the place wasn't screaming "hospital" anymore. The room exited out into a small courtyard with a beautiful garden with a gazebo and a pond filled with myriad colourful fish. The trees were in a glorious state of perpetual autumn, but it wasn't cold and wet. There was a robin sweetly singing his little heart away on a branch somewhere, and I smiled. Mum had always loved seeing the English robin on the window ledge in the kitchen. She'd slip him mealy worms and various other goodies to bribe him to stick around and sing, and it had apparently worked.

These "living quarters" suites were good for when people had to stay in the hospital for extended periods of time, and I was really happy to see it. Amelia's tour of the place had made Severus and I feel better about our decision, not that we were on the fence, but little things— small compassions and caring for their people— made all the difference. Even Severus could respect that. If anything, he could more than appreciate such kindnesses.

I knocked on the door even though it was partially open, and Healer Conroy looked up and smiled at us. "Ah, these would be the ones here to interview you about what went on out there, Miss Weasley. Take a sip of this here. It will help keep you calm and relaxed during the questioning, not that I think you won't be, but we wouldn't want any undo stress on the mother or the baby, yes?"

Ginevra nodded, looking puffy and far more sullen than I remembered her. She was always so spunky and in-your-face about everything, dishing out as much as she got from all of her brothers. Perhaps, it was the pregnancy. There was probably some shock going on, as I doubt she had been planning to get pregnant while galavanting through the moors with Harry Potter. How she got pregnant was probably a mystery I'd never know, but my mind couldn't imagine how that happened while on the run and her big brother with them.

Maybe I was just too old-fashioned.

Severus purred into my mind. He liked me just like I was. That was all that mattered, really.

"I am Chestnut," I said, using my rather bland cover name.

"Glacius," Severus said, in a deadpan drone. I tried not to cough. His name may have changed but his voice, Merlin, his _voice_. You couldn't conceal that sort of disdain for idiocy easily.

Ginny startled, perhaps thinking her Potions professor had stalked her to the hospital and then thinking herself quite the loon.

"I'll leave you to it," Healer Conroy said, putting a hand on my shoulder and nodding. He left swiftly with a swirl of his lime green healer's robes that reminded me of someone. It would surely come to me later.

"Miss Weasley," I greeted politely. "Please pardon us if we interrupted your treatment."

"No, no, it's fine," Ginny said. "Healer Conroy was just giving me some prenatal potions and supplements. He said it was important that I start them now as I wasn't really eating well the past couple of months."

I couldn't help but notice the roundness of her abdomen, and I realised she was much further along than I'd thought. Maybe they hadn't been getting it on while on the run. Maybe they had while still at Hogwarts. Blimey.

"Healer Conroy says she's about sixteen to eighteen weeks, perhaps more if the malnutrition affected her," Ginny said, rubbing her abdomen. "Mum always wanted a girl. She ended up with six sons before me."

"Quite a large family," I said.

"Runs in the family, to be honest," Ginny said. "Healer Conroy said that I didn't have to answer the questions, but if I didn't, I would probably be fined for— I can't remember what he said, to be honest. I'll answer whatever you ask, though," she said.

"What was your mission while you were out there, Miss Weasley?" Severus asked. To his credit he asked it without dripping disdain with every world.

Ginny frowned. "Harry had a mission he was given by Professor Dumbledore," she answered. "He said he had to find the real Sword of Gryffindor. It was crucial for the light side to vanquish the dark."

I felt my eyebrow rising into my hair as Severus coughed a barely audible "bullshite" into his hand.

"Did you find it?" I asked. It was worth a shot. Maybe, just maybe, they got lucky.

"We think it is in the Lestrange vault in Gringott's," Ginny said. "But we never got the chance to try to retrieve it. Breaking into Gringott's— that would be total madness. Even if we somehow managed to get in unseen, there would be doors and pass-phrases. It would take a miracle to get in, and it would take an even bigger one to get out."

"How did you manage to remain undetected for so long?" I asked.

"Harry has this amulet he wears that puts out some sort of ward," Ginny replied. "Dumbledore gave it to him. You activate it when want to set up a camp, and it keeps people from seeing you or even wanting to go where you are, but if you step out of it, you can't get back in because you can't find it again. Ron forgot about that when he got so mad and wanted to drag me right back home to mum and tell on me. Then, he turned around and blamed _me_ for his not being able to go back to Harry."

"Why did you choose to go with Mr Potter?" I asked.

"I wanted to help him," Ginny said.

"Are you seventeen yet?"

Ginny shook her head.

"So you still have the trace on you," I said.

Ginny shook her head again. "Headmaster Dumbledore removed it for me."

Severus waved a wand over her and looked back at me, shaking his head in disgust.

I wondered how that was even possible. I took my wand and pointed it at myself, casting the true age charm. Ah, so _there_ was the proof of my time travelling adventures. Twenty-eight. Ginny was looking at me like I was an old fogey. _Really?_ Twenty-eight is not a hundred and fifty, little whippersnapper. Oh, good grief. Did _I_ actually think that?

Severus was giving me that definitive smirk.

I rolled my eyes at him.

I pointed my wand at Ginevra and cast the charm again. Seventeen.

"When were you born, Miss Weasley?"

"August eleven, nineteen eighty-one," Ginny replied.

Now, I'm no slouch at maths, but I was pretty sure she didn't add up to seventeen, seeing as we were in nineteen ninety-eight.

"Did you ever use a time-turner, Miss Weasley?" I asked.

"Time _what_?"

Scratch that, then. "What did he do to take off the trace?"

"I drank a potion," Ginny said. "It tasted like feet."

And how do you know it tastes like feet? Go around gnawing on random feet? Why would you do such a thing? Ew!

 _One of the side-effects of the aging potion is a dramatically increased libido_ , Severus said in my head. An entire year's worth of hormones all at once.

My jaw dropped. _Are you serious?_

 _Masters never taught you the aging potion?_ Severus asked.

 _Apparently not that one,_ I answered. _The one I learned used Niffler's fancy, bicorn horn, and bouncing spider juice. One drop for each month you wish to age. We used it to help mature mandrakes. No side-effects save a sedation effect over five drops, and a sedated mandrake was hardly a concern._

Severus looked thoughtful. _We should compare notes later._

 _Indeed,_ I replied. _I look forward to it._

"Miss Weasley," I said aloud. "Do you know where Mr Potter might be?"

Ginny shook her head no.

"Did you make any sort of plan about what to do if you should become separated?"

No again. Fuck, did you plan _any_ thing?!

 _Language, Hermione._

I sighed. I was getting impatient. My language always went straight to Hades when I got impatient.

"How is Mr Potter getting supplies, food, shelter?"

"Dobby comes every few days with food and other supplies," Ginny replied.

So, Albus was sending supplies by house-elf, which, like gargoyles, defied all so-called magical rules.

A bunch of curious pups entered my mind the moment I thought of gargoyles, insatiably curious. No such thing as privacy, even at work.

 _Who's that?_ Bamf asked.

 _Mop head!_ Another said.

 _Play?_

 _We can play with him?_

 _Chew on him?_

 _Play with him and chew on him?_

 _Mummy wants him?_

 _Wants him to chew on him?_

 _I want to chew on him!_

 _Me too!_

 _Help mum!_

 _Yes!_

 _We help!_

Sabine drove them all out of my head. She was such a _good_ pup. I really loved her.

"Thank you for your time and agreeing to answer our questions, Miss Weasley," I said after a heavy sigh. "I will inform your healer about the aging potion—now, before your protest," I cut her off with a stern look. "That potion could have some rather unexpected side-effects and your healer needs to know both for your safety and your baby's."

"Please don't tell my mum!" Ginny pleaded.

"I will not be the one telling your family anything, Miss Weasley," I said truthfully. "That's between you and your healer at this point, and it's up to you what you choose to share or not share with your family."

Ginny bit her lip and nodded with clear relief.

"Get some rest, Miss Weasley," I said as Severus and I moved to exit the room. "Thank you again for your time."

As we exited the room, I began to realise that Albus' web was far larger than I'd originally thought. While he had his big projects, such as myself and Severus, he also had various people working on other tasks that were hard to decipher, rhyme or reason. It was hard to tell who was a piece in the game and who was collateral damage. One thing was for sure, I was going to need multiple cups of industrial-strength Auror coffee before going in to interrogate Ronald Weasley. Tea was simply not going to cut it for _that_ job.

* * *

 **A/N:** No one can prepare themselves enough for Ronald Weasley. In fact, I may require brain bleach to write the next chapter. *whimper*

On the bright side, Kneazle kittens! OMG! *hugs them*. Kneazle kittens with gargoyle pups. AHHHHH! *dies happy*


	3. Unexpected Outcomes As Evidenced By TP

**A/N:** Drama unfolds. Also, mind of Ronald Weasley. Wear PPE.

 **Beta Love:** The Dragon and the Rose, Dutchgirl01, and Flyby Commander Shepard

* * *

 **Shadow Play**

Chapter 3: Unexpected Outcomes As Evidenced By Teleportation

* * *

 _-Ronald Weasley-_

I wasn't sure what was worse: being under protective custody in the bowels of the Ministry where even my family couldn't see me, or out with Harry trying to save the world by trying to get a sword. At least it was warm here, and they gave me my own room where I didn't have to listen to Harry, Neville, or Seamus snore all night.

They also provided food which was better than the rations we'd made do with, and it was better than even Mum's cooking. I'd never tell her that to her face, though. I valued my life.

It'd all started well enough. The Headmaster asks you to go on a special mission, gives you supplies, and lets you go off with your best mate and your clingy little sister—though I was beginning to see, in hindsight, that maybe my sister had fancied Harry long before this. I'd thought it was just hero worship, truly, but now she was pregnant, and I was more than a little gobsmacked. When I realised that Ginny wasn't just eating all of our rations and making herself fat, I'd just grabbed her and Apparated home, thinking Mum would take care of it and put things to rights. It hadn't even crossed my mind that I wouldn't have been able to find my way back.

Though, we hadn't really been poised to actually move at the time I had left. The sword was in Gringott's, and that was a place I wasn't even sure how we'd manage it even with Harry's invisibility cloak. I wondered what Harry was doing now. Was he okay?

Truthfully, I was glad to be free of the quest. My family was already in the shitter for being blood traitors thanks to my dad's love of Muggles. We really didn't need more reasons to paint a target on our backs. I was tired of being the poor pureblood who had shared everything and hand-me-down everything else. Ginny had at least gotten new clothes because she was the only girl. Not me, though, I was the one with the hand-me-downs that were already handed down. I was tired of it.

At least here I had my own place and no one bothered me. The food was good, and they didn't pester me to do something else when I really just wanted to have a good lie in.

The bad thing was, I wasn't allowed to leave or have visitors, save Ginny. She was already here, so that wasn't really an issue. I would have liked to see Lavender again, though. She always knew how to make a bloke feel wanted. I would really like to feel wanted right now.

A knock on the door gave me all of five seconds warning before the door opened and a gruff-looking bloke in a leather jacket walked in. He had a bulging glass eye where his left eye should have been, and its blue colour was almost more startling than the eye itself. I felt the colour drain from my face as I realised who it was. There could be only one person with a magical eye over his eye socket, and I had seen his doppleganger at Hogwarts for year: Alastor Moody.

"Weasley," the wizard said gruffly, eye spinning to stare at me. "I trust that tedious introductions will not be necessary?"

I gulped. "No, sir."

"Good, I'd hate to think you weren't paying attention at the Order meetings," Moody growled. "We have some questions for you about your adventures with Potter."

"We, sir?"

That was when I saw them—Two figures cloaked from head-to-toe in pristine white robes with silver and gold embroidery. The hood sheltered their faces, but the headdress—Oh, Merlin, the mask over their glowing eyes and the ornate, almost delicate mesh over their mouths—Unspeakables. One was decidedly taller than the other, but that was hardly any better. They were both as intimidating as fuck, and all the stories I'd carelessly dismissed as my father's embellishments all came back to haunt me.

Crystals clinked together like wind chimes as they entered the room, and I realised that Death Eaters had nothing on Unspeakables. We'd been running from them for the past two months, and I'd never felt the terror I felt as I looked at these people. Their goblin-silver gauntlets and flame-like eyes combined with the sort of strange "gag" on their mouths made me suspect that far more sinister things lay beneath.

Dad had told us many stories on how he'd wanted to be an Unspeakable once, but when Mum got pregnant, he'd realised he couldn't take on the commitment. He said it was a career you couldn't simply retire from or leave, and he wanted to be able to have stable hours and enough time for the family. He'd wanted to able to come home and not keep anything from his wife, and knowing how our mother was, well… Mum didn't like secrets unless they were hers.

I wondered what twisted mutations Unspeakables went through that they had to cover themselves up with such ornate uniforms. Were they actually Dementors under those hoods? _Worse_ than Dementors? Were they leashed by magic for the DoM? Merlin, what kind of magic did _that_ entail?

An unearthly hissing came from one and then the other, and Moody just nodded his head like he was listening to normal conversation.

"Alright, Weasley," Moody grunted. "There was some question as to whether you've been manipulated by magic, so these two are here to ascertain if you are."

"Wh-whut?" I babbled, almost hysterical. I couldn't think. They were staring at me.

Moody scowled. Why was he staring at me like _**I**_ was the bad guy? I wasn't a ruddy Dark wizard. He was supposed to be all gruff and in your face to bad people or Slytherins. Not me.

"Why am I even here? It's not like I or my sister are in any danger. We're purebloods. Now that we're away from Harry, they have no reason to come after us!"

"That what you think, Weasley?" Moody asked. "You think the target comes off because you're no longer in the same vicinity of Potter?"

Well, yeah. Everyone knew that Death Eaters were all about blood purity, and our family was just as inbred as the rest of the purebloods. There had to be some benefit for that, right?

More hissing. It actually sounded worse than Parseltongue, and I wasn't sure how. I'd heard Harry hissing like a snake before, but this was different.

"Before you Apparated home with your sister, where were you, Weasley," Moody asked.

"We had a camp set up inside Wye Valley near where a lot of Muggles tend to go for their hols. Dumbledore gave us a few key places that we would alternate from, but it was a pretty big list and we moved every few days."

I stopped. "Why am I telling _you_ all of this?"

Moody tilted his head. "Because if you don't, I'm going to keep staring at you until you do, and that means I will follow you and watch your every move of every minute and every day until you can't use the loo without me watching."

"I'm not a Dark wizard!" I yelled.

"Then what are you afraid of?"

"You!"

Moody raised an eyebrow, snorting. "Look, Weasley. Your parents are looking at a lot of fines for allowing your underage baby sister to skip school in favor of going gallivanting the across countryside with you and her boyfriend. Do you _really_ want to make it worse for them?

"I'm seventeen. My decisions don't affect them."

"Where do you live, Weasley?"

"What?"

"Where do you live? A flat in London? Have your own place? Job? Maybe if you didn't live in that stackable house in Ottery St Catchpole, I'd take your supposed independence a bit more seriously, hrm?"

That wasn't fair. I was out trying to save the world, and he was talking to me like having a job somehow made me responsible.

Moody stared at me as the Unspeakables hissed at him and then towards me.

"Hrm, you're right," Moody said. He turned to me. "Look, Weasley, just give us your memories of the list of places he could be, and you can go back to enjoying the Ministry's hospitality."

"I can't," I blurted.

"Can't or _won't?_ " Moody glowered.

I tried my best to glare back at him, but failed. Moody had far more practice, and he was as intimidating as all fuck. "I _can't!_ "

"Are you under a Vow?"

"No!"

"Why then?"

"I," I started to say, flushing with anger and embarrassment. "I don't know _how_."

Contrary to popular belief, being able to extract memories was complicated and damn hard. Dad said he had to have special training to do it for work so he could do it consistently and correctly. Charlie learned to do it so he could prove his dragons could be worked with without fatalities if treated properly. Bill had learned it because Curse Breakers have to submit their memories after every mission to prove they didn't defile a sacred tomb or protected site. I hadn't had any reason to learn it, and they didn't test on it at Hogwarts, so why bother? It's not like they took my memories to prove we were better at Quidditch than those vile Slytherins. At least then, I'd have had a reason.

Moody narrowed his good eye at me while his artefact stared right through me.

The Unspeakables hissed to themselves and to Moody. How did he understand them? Was he just pretending?

"Glacius will extract them," Moody said grimly. "I will remain here to ensure there was nothing else taken or done to you."

Should I thank him? What the hell would an Unspeakable do to me? Glacius? What the hell kind of name was that?

"Do I even have a choice?"

The shorter of the Unspeakables hissed.

"You always have a choice, Weasley," Moody bit out, "but every choice comes with consequences." He looked to the two white cloaked figures and then back at me. "If I come back, it will be to bring you in front of the Wizengamot where I will testify that the information in your head is vital to our investigation, and I will have a permit to tear your mind apart piece by piece, memory by memory, until we find the information we need."

"That's not _**LEGAL!**_ " I blurted.

"This is a time of war, Mr Weasley," Moody said grimly. "Are you so very eager to let your supposed _friend_ suffer it out alone out there for a quest that will surely kill him?"

"Dumbledore trusted us with the task!"

"And you are being so very helpful to him here, aren't you, boy?"

I felt my face getting red.

"Do you think you are going to just walk into Gringott's and ask them to let you into the Lestrange vault because Albus Dumbledore asked you to?"

We hadn't figured that out yet, but it's not like it wouldn't come to us eventually.

Moody scowled. "Fine, you win," he said, shrugging and turning to the Unspeakables. "I'm going to fill out the paperwork to get him released and make sure everyone knows _exactly_ how helpful he's been. I'm getting a cuppa before I have to fill out the paperwork. Seeing as you dropped out of school, I have to add your name to the list to be banned from taking your N.E.W.T.s, add you to the official Hogwarts dropout list, and put you on the tuition payback list since you never finished school. Since you are an adult, I'm sure you know that falls on you to pay it back."

"But—Hogwarts doesn't have tuition!" I protested.

"Normally, no," Moody said, "but thanks to Educational Degree 2536 passed by Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge, all those who drop out of school must pay back what the Ministry usually pays for each student for every year they are in school without completing N.E.W.T.s. You didn't think that they pay teachers and staff with nothing, did you?"

Moody left the room, shaking his head in disgust and muttering under his breath. The Unspeakables then turned their heads to me, their glowing, flame-like eyes staring holes into me. They spoke in low, whispering hisses, their crystal headdresses making light tinkling sounds as their goblin-silver claws clicked together.

I stared at those intricate claws and saw a lifetime of galleons in a single claw alone. One crystal from that headdress would buy me some land and a crew to build me the house that would put my parent's place to shame. Dad had showed me a bag of confiscated foci crystals once. They were cut from perfect crystals to channel magic and amplify the effects. Once, the most powerful wizards used to put them on their wands to amplify the power—long ago, before Ollivander had learned how to make wands that matched the wizard from "standard" cores. Foci fell out of favour because of how expensive they were. Only the oldest and wealthiest families could afford them, and many of them passed them down because of it.

Not that the Weasley family ever had them.

I had been tempted to pocket one then and there—but Dad was always so good about cataloging everything. He'd have gotten in trouble. What I wouldn't give for one. One little crystal from that headdress. They wouldn't even miss one. The headdress looked so intricate and fragile. Maybe I could—

The taller one turned its head to me, and its flame-like eyes narrowed into slits.

Merlin, could he read my mind?

Think of something mundane and normal. Think of food. Think of Quidditch.

My thoughts descended into imagining making out with Lavender under the pitch seating after a game filled my head. Her body. Her _smell_. Her lovey dovey way of saying my name, calling me her Won-Won. Oh gods. I was getting hard just—

One of the Unspeakables let out a sort of coughing growl, and the other's eyes managed to stare even more creepily at me. Those wicked talons flexed open and clenched tightly

Did they know? Oh _fuck_.

My libido escaped with the coldness of my sudden realisation that I was in a room with two mind-readers. Were they, what was the term? Awklewmans? No that was the wrong.. Legalamans. Were they Legolasmans?

Hell, what _was_ it that Bill had said?

Wait… if they were bloody mind-readers and they just took what they wanted right out of my head, that would leave me with no secrets left that could get out of here without having to pay all those galleons. Surely if I helped them, they would make an exception for my cooperation?

Besides, if I got out with good standing, Lavender would think I was a hero and give me her special hero's reward like the last time I won the Quidditch game against Slytherin.

"Fine! Bloody fine! I'll help. Just get Moody back in here! Tell him I decided I want to help! You'll help me, yeah? You'll make sure I can get back in school?" Back to Lavender. I could be her hero.

The sound of hissing and windchimes was my only answer.

"Come _**on!**_ " I insisted.

Moody came back in, grunting as he thrust coffee mugs into the Unspeakables' hands. Merlin only knew how they were actually going to _DRINK_ it.

"I changed my mind!" I blurted. "I'll let you take the memories, just get me back into school, yeah?

Moody narrowed his eyes at me, slapping the large folder of paperwork against his arm as he evaluated something only he knew.

"Fine," he said, pulling out a sheet from under a sheet somewhere in that folder. "Sign here, and we'll get this over and done with right now." Then he thrust a quill into my hand.

I signed my name on the paperwork after mutely staring at the swimming words on the parchment. I thrust the parchment and quill back at him.

Moody stared at it, muttering. He shook his head and nodded to the two Unspeakables.

The tall one approached, silver talons extended to spider across my face, and I stifled a scream of fear as the coldness of the metal clamped across my skin. The tip of a wand moved between the silver, and a stream of shimmering memories trailed out from my head into a vial the other was holding.

The "fingers" left my face and the Unspeakable stepped back, its hissing speech directed at Moody.

"There now, that wasn't so bad, was it, boy?" Moody growled.

The smaller Unspeakable clicked a silver lid on the crystal phial it was holding, handing it to Moody.

"I'll process your paperwork," Moody said, tilting his chin. "We'll have Aurors escort you back to Hogwarts when it is done if the Headmaster approves."

" _If?_ " I blurted.

"Headmaster Dumbledore personally approves all readmissions to the school," Moody said. He looked hard at me. "If what you told the Aurors when you came in is the truth, the Headmaster is fully aware of your quest, hrm? Surely, he wouldn't hesitate to approve of you returning?"

I swallowed hard. "I guess," I replied. He'd sent us out to help Harry. I wondered if he would accept us back having failed to stick with him.

The two Unspeakables left the room, their white robes swishing as they swept the room, and I couldn't help but feel a sense of relief that I was left with only Auror Moody to glare at me like I hadn't a lick of sense. I wondered if he liked anyone? Surely he was the most lonely man on earth.

* * *

 _-Severus-_

"I fear you have just insulted my mother and said I dress with mustard," Brandywine said calmly as Hermione attempted our latest phrases in Gobbledegook. As much as it amused me, I knew I wasn't doing much better.

"I'm so sorry!" Hermione exclaimed, flushing red from her head to her tentacle tips.

"Fear not, it is a very complex language," the goblin replied. "How about you try, Severus?"

I attempted my phrase, hoping it said "I need your help."

Brandywine looked at me strangely. "You like mushrooms?"

I slumped, and even my tentacles were shaking their tips at me in their equivalent of facepalms. Hell, Hermione's tentacles were shaking their tips at me too. Thanks for making me feel like an inept moron, traitors.

Nothing makes a person feel as stupid as trying to learn a language you really should have tried learning when you were younger and apt to more quickly picking such things, but Gobbledegook was _hardly_ a normal curriculum item at Hogwarts—or anywhere for that matter. Brandywine, who was a goblin silversmith of the highest order was also our teacher for learning the customs and language of the goblins. It was something all Unspeakables were required to learn, both so we could talk to our goblin allies in their own language but also so we didn't have social gaffes that caused the next wizard-goblin war. From what we'd been told, the relationship between the DoM and the goblin nation was unique in that it was about mutual cooperation and respect. The goblins working with the DoM had the same rights of any wizard or witch, unlike anywhere else in Britain, and the partnership was something both sides guarded fiercely as well as promoting mutual respect.

I had had no idea it was even possible, to be perfectly honest. Goblins were the people you dealt with at the bank, and beyond that I hadn't paid much attention. That was much like it was everywhere else and also why what the DoM had was such a jealously guarded secret.

Goblin silversmiths, human foci-crafters, and now a certain Kneazle wandcrafter was amongst the trade-crafters in the DoM, all of them heartily provided for and protected for their crafts. There were also other trades such as healing, alchemy, potions, and the standard masteries, but there was also dragonets that tended the fires, house-elves that dutifully tended all the quarters and family housing, mounted and non-mounted combat trainers, martial spellcasting masters, and more. It was really a culture inside a culture and a society hiding within an established society, none of it leaving the confines of the DoM lest the secret that had created such a mutually beneficial relationship be exposed to outsiders.

It became clear to me, and perhaps Hermione too, that this was the reason Unspeakables had lifetime careers and never left. We weren't prisoners; we were protecting the ones we cared about. Everyone was invested in it. These were our allies, our friends, and our loved ones all together. Sure there would be drama, as all families had, but the one thing we all kept in our minds was what we had to lose if we didn't suck it up and make things work: everything. That was something to Topsiders (as most of the folk in the DoM called them) had lost sight of.

All of this we were learning as we waiting for the professionals to finish picking through the memories I had extracted from one Ronald Bilius Weasley.

Instead of wasting time filtering through Ronald Weasley's brain, I had pretty much taken all the memories he'd had for the last two months he'd been gallivanting across the country with Potter and stuffed it into a vial. Specialists would go through them, minute by minute, recording everything in case anything was important. From what I heard from Master Memchase, the mind of Ronald Weasley was a scary place indeed. For every morsel of usefulness, there were about twenty heaping servings of adolescent, hormone-driven, sexually-saturated thoughts and scenes, leaving all of us to believe that being on the run on a mission hadn't really put anything in perspective.

There were hypotheses from some of the masters that purebloods matured slower than those of mixed bloodlines. It was common knowledge that magicals aged slower than Muggles, but it was suggested that purebloods aged slower both in mind and body, so even while your body may be seventeen and of age, your mind was still lurking around thirteen or fourteen. It could explain why it had taken Draco so long to realise being branded by the Dark Lord was not an honour in any way—hell, even Lucius, despite having had a child of his own, hadn't really seemed to realise what was at stake until he "failed" to rein in Bellatrix (not that anyone but the Dark Lord could) during the night Sirius Black had kicked the bucket in a duel with his cousin. It had ultimately cost the Dark Lord Harry Potter, and thanks to the prophecy, Harry Potter was wanted very badly.

Then again, there were notable mature wizards and witches from Pureblood families who had made a name for themselves before they were past their thirties and forties. But were they exceptions or the rule? Apparently there were too many vectors complicating things to be sure. Personally, I was on board to the hypothesis, as my personal experience with purebloods in my schooling years seemed hellbent on proving it at every turn.

The back of my mind argued that adolescence, by definition, made people stupid, and there was really no difference in magical or non or even human and nonhuman. Brandywine's stories of his children were horrific tales of how-the-hell-did-anyone-survive-puberty. His children had apparently tried to shortcut a method of metallurgy and had started a fire that had consumed half of a borough before had been stopped. Considering typical goblin society would often condone beating the shite out of stupid until the stupid stopped (or in some cases throwing the offender to the dragon and forgiving them only if they survived the experience), I had to wonder how any of us survived in either society. Brandywine confessed that he had wanted to to be a healer when he was a young goblin, which was utterly scandalous in goblin society. Male goblin healers? Preposterous! Or at least, so he said.

"Times have changed," the old goblin had said. "Or, at least, they have here. Here, my grandchildren can become a healer or a silversmith, and no one will throw them to the dragon to punish their insolence."

Despite our horrid SNAFUs in the land of goblin language, Hermione was laughing and smiling with the small gathering of goblins who were showing her some of the craftwork they specialised in. Curious tentacles were inspecting all the little rings, lanterns, lock mechanisms, vault keys, and even silverware. The goblins seemed amused by this, and even gave the tentacles some adornments.

"They have bling!" Hermione laughed, and I felt a smile tugging at my lips. It was hard to be grumpy around her. Between her warm heart and her curious tentacles, there was a lot to love. Sure enough, each tentacle had some "bling" from rings to finely cut gems.

My tentacles hissed, pouting. I could feel they were feeling put out and ostracized. They wanted bling too, and I was being McGrumpy-Pants and standing out of the way in an unforgivably antisocial manner. I think one just bit my ear. Hey!

Hissss.

Pouting tentacles, really?

Hermione's tail wrapped around my waist and yanked me forward and closer to her, and my tentacles wriggled happily as they cheerfully inspected all the goblin-made shiny things.

I crossed my arms in front of me, scowling at Hermione. "This is all your fault."

" _My_ fault?" she replied with a snort. "However do you mean?"

All of her blinged out, gemmed over, crystal adorned tentacles stared at me in tandem with her.

One of my tentacles, which had been recently blessed with a shiny jingle bell, rang festively, and the other tentacles seemed to approve.

"Humbug," I grumped.

My insufferably festive tentacle jingled happily, defying me at every turn.

Hermione gave me a warm look and a glint of her fangs, and I couldn't look her in the face without flushing. I pulled my robe around my shoulders and inward across my chest. I mumbled the ingredients to gingerbread facial tonic and depilatory potion in my head.

"Severus," Hermione said, practically bouncing on her toes.

"Hn," I managed to say.

She reached up and kissed the tip of my nose, tentacles jingling with jolly approval.

"This is August," I murmured. "I feel like you're gearing up for Christmas."

She smiled at me serenely. "Why not? I already have the best present of all."

"Enough Kneazles to fit in every stocking?"

"Nope."

"Family safely evacuated?"

"Guess again," she said with a smile.

"A good job and co-workers who appreciate you?"

Hermione put her hands on her hips and shook her head. "No biscuits for you if you can't figure it out," she said, putting out her lip in a pout.

Her tentacles, much like felines, tilted their points up and snubbed me.

They _snubbed_ me!

Mine were poking me, the jingly one being extremely insistent. I tried to bat it away, but it bit me on the finger.

"This is a conspiracy," I muttered.

She turned slowly away, the pads of her paw-hands brushed against my face. She was caught somewhere between woman and she-beast, a fluid blend of fur and skin seamlessly welded together. She wore it so naturally, no sign of the awkwardness she had pretended as a "teenager." She walked away from me in a glide, her wings folded around her shoulders like a cape.

"You are my present," I blurted. "My future. My here and my now."

She turned to me, her eyes shimmering with moisture. "You're such a romantic," she said with a kind expression.

One of my tentacles bit me, and I rubbed my hand and stared at it. It held a shining ring of goblin silver surrounding a reddish-orange gem of fire and light. Two sparkling emeralds, like the eyes of a beast, complimented the main stone with a shimmer of magic. My bitey tentacle did its best tentacle glare at me.

I fell on one knee before her, my breath caught in my throat. "I—" What the hell was I trying to say? What could I say? "Magic may have decided for us. Fate may have thrown us together, but will you—" Merlin's beard this was hard. "Will you choose of your own free will to wear my ring? Will you be mine?" Mine sounded like such a selfish possessive thing, but I did not want to share her with others. While I knew she would meet other wizards and work with them. There would always be others in her life. I wanted to be hers as much as I wanted her to be mine.

"Hrm," Hermione said, staring at the ring with evaluation. "That depends."

"On?" What sort of task would I have to do to prove my devotion? Slay a dragon without a wand? Keep the gargoyle pups out of the bedroom by some miracle of Merlin? Brew her a luck potion blindfolded with my hands tied behind my back as I dive underneath a closing gate? Wrestle a rabid manticore with a werewolf complex? Imperio the Dark Lord, make him wear a pink tutu, and have him dance in Swan Lake with the giant squid? Transform Umbridge into a decent, kind, generous human being? Turn tears into diamonds? Convince Lucius to shave his head and become a monk? Persuade Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore to give up his magic in favour of sacking groceries for Muggles at Tesco?

Hermione's tail tip waved like a flag in front of me, a shimmering emerald ring set in goblin silver—the stones were set like floating islands surrounded by the band, shimmering magic ensuring that if I was brewing something it would never catch on anything or pick up debris. It was practical, beautiful, and thoughtful. "Will you wear mine?"

My hands cupped around hers. "I believe that will be… acceptable."

Hermione's eyes grew as brilliant as the sun as a warm smile stretched across her face.

My insufferably festive tentacle jingled in approval and celebration, voicing its opinion on the matter. I couldn't be annoyed because she leaned over and kissed it on the tip causing it to blush and rub against her cheek.

* * *

-Rubeus Hagrid-

"Aw, come in, Perfesser Headmaster, sir," I said, using my foot to push Fang away from the door.

Fang gave a series of furious barks and then took off, diving under my bed. Then the bed began to shake as my dog trembled violently beneath it, whining pitifully. What was wrong with that dozy dog? He knew the Headmaster. I tried to lure out Fang from under the bed with a steak, but the old dog just whimpered like a puppy.

"How're ya doing, Headmaster?" I asked, passing him his accustomed cuppa.

Albus sat down at the table, and the old chair creaked as he settled. The sun streamed in from the doorway, casting the room in harsh relief. The shadows were long and sharp, but—

The shadows in the room were all leaning away, almost as if they were trying to escape the room.

"Yer feelin' okay, perfesser?" I asked with a frown.

"I'm perfectly fine, Hagrid," he replied, stretching. "More than fine, in fact."

"Ya look a little pale, sir," I said. "Getting enough sleep, yeah?"

"Yes, yes," he said, sounding a bit annoyed. "Just came out to get some fresh air and see how you were doing, Hagrid." He stretched, his oddly long fingernails scratching at the back of his neck. They almost looked like—Fang's claws after he'd finished digging up gnomes from the garden.

"Erm, Headmaster, sir?" I asked, squinting at those oddly gnarled fingernails.

I looked up to a rustling noise and saw that the gnomes in the garden were fleeing in droves. They couldn't pull themselves out of the ground and run fast enough, their oddly potato-shaped heads made it look like produce was rolling out of the garden by itself.

"Get yourself blasted by a potion or sumthin'?" I asked. "Ya said Perfesser Slughorn was in the infirmary with grout?"

"Gout," Dumbledore muttered. "Potion exploded and gave him Muggle diseases. Poppy has it under control. I just had to take over his classes for a few days."

Maybe a potion exploded on him and he didn't realise it had some pretty strange… side effects?

Dumbledore was itching himself again, taking off his hat in order to scratch his head. Were those… _horns?_

"Um, Perfesser, sir," I said uneasily. "Maybe you should see Poppy if you're feeling a bit… itchy, sir. Maybe a potion went a little pear-shaped—?"

Dumbledore just waved me off unconcernedly. "Honestly, I'm fine, Hagrid," he replied.

"Errhhh," I replied. Wizards were an odd lot, really. Odd things happened and most just took it as par for the course, but I was pretty sure horns and claws weren't standard for Albus Dumbledore. Well, _almost_ sure. Possibly.

"Don't be such a hen, Hagrid," Albus muttered. "Minerva is enough of that, and she's a tabby."

Images of winged, egg-laying tabbies filled my head, and I wondered if you could cross Kneazles with magical poultry and make catbirds. That would certainly help with the rodent problem. Then again, I watched a trail of rodents leaving my hut in a tearing hurry, all of them giving the middle table a very wide berth as they made their frantic exodus. What the hell was going on? Something was pretty dodgy, and I wanted to press Dumbledore more, but on the other hand I really didn't want a proper ear-bashing for sticking my nose into his business. I really wanted to know why he was sporting horns and claws, thought. That couldn't be remotely natural.

"Ah, Hagrid, thank you for sharing your fresh air with me," Dumbledore said with a pleased sigh. "I think I'm going to go for a walk around the lake and make sure no one is attempting to drown themselves while playing with the giant squid."

The Headmaster stood and itched himself again around the ears, his hair moving away from pointed, goblin-like ears. His hair covered the tips again, and he adjusted his hat. "Good day, Hagrid."

As the wizard walked out, I noticed an odd-looking bulge right where his tailbone would be. Was that… _fur?_

Maybe I should go tell Madam Pomfrey. Something was ruddy well off, and if it was a potion doing it, it should be taken care of sooner rather than later. The Headmaster might not realise it, but someone had to tell him that he was looking rather… feral today. Probably best for all of us if Poppy or Deputy Headmistress McGonagall took care of that. I don't know about them, but if the Headmaster was turning into a satyr, maybe someone should have a good sit down with him and discuss options.

Fang finally popped his head out from under the bed with a mournful whine.

"What's your problem, Fang?" I asked.

I looked around to toss Fang the steak that had been sitting on the table and blinked. Where the hell was that steak?

"Did you steal that steak, ya dozy dog?" I accused Fang.

Fang looked at me like I was a ruddy blockhead.

Well, if _he_ didn't eat it, where had it gone?

* * *

-Poppy Pomfrey-

Minerva hadn't been kidding. Something was decidedly wrong with the Headmaster, and it was only to assure us that everything really was fine that finally got him into the infirmary for a checkup. Things, however, were nowhere _near_ fine.

Albus had the start of very goat-like horns on his head, which made me think that Hagrid's earlier whisper that the old Headmaster was turning into a satyr was perhaps not so far-fetched, after all. His hands had strange, dog-like claws, almost as if his nails had thickened and he hadn't bothered to trim them in quite a few months. I had seen him just before school had started up again, and he had been in the peak of health for his age. Things simply weren't adding up here.

Albus' skin had developed some sort of dry flakiness that belied the actual problem. It seemed as though his skin was changing, and the old skin was thinning and cracking to expose something very… _alien_ underneath. Yet, there was no detectable potion residue as often was seen with so many potion accidents. There was no trace of a curse or hex, mischievous magic, or even the rare incidence of divine magic that cropped up occasionally.

What was going _on_ here?

When I moved my wand over his body, strange tendrils of magic seemed half-formed, almost as if they had been cut off from something or someone. Then there were the—oh dear Merlin, what the hell were _those?_

Clusters of fat, leathery-skinned worms were sprouting off his back. That was not natural at all! One was trying to pick Albus' nose as another was idly scratching his bum, then they exchanged jobs. Nasty.

Before I said anything, I carefully copied my memories into a vial and hid it in one of the medicine pouches she carried healing powders in. I quickly wrote on the parchment, wrapped it around the pouch, and summoned the dozing infirmary owl. I sent it off to her contact in the DoM. He would know what I was looking at and how to deal with it—if anyone did.

I frowned. It wasn't like me to break the confidentiality of my patients, but my gut was telling me that something insidious was happening to the Headmaster. I wanted to know what it was before attempting to treat it. I especially wanted to know before I attempted to break the news to Albus before he was ready to hear it. Even now, he was in denial that he needed anything more than an anti-itch cream for his skin.

I handed Albus a tin of itch cream with a disapproving tut. "This should help soothe the itch, Headmaster. You will come to me if you experience anything out of the ordinary. There could be delayed effects to the magic you were exposed to."

Albus shook his head. "I'm fine, Poppy. You needn't worry," he said so smoothly that I couldn't help but suspect that he had no idea whatsoever about what was going on. Was he blind to the tentacles on his back that were—

Well, one had gotten itself tangled up in the bandages, another was picking Albus' nose, the other scratching his rear end again, and another pair appeared to be conducting an invisible orchestra.

"Here, let me help you with that robe, Albus," I said, quickly yanking the robes over his back and smooshing the tentacles under the fabric. Like the cat that couldn't find its way out of a box or a paper bag, the tentacles seemed stymied as to what to do about their situation—thankfully. I used my wand to "groom" his misshapen nails into something more human, and I used a gentle sanding charm to make his horns disappear, being very careful not to use any spell directly on anything that might react badly to magic. Who knew what it might do? I certainly didn't. I didn't even care to guess. Mere guesses couldn't heal people. Not with the sort of proven results I preferred, anyway.

Something tickled insistently at the back of my mind. Where had I seen this before? I had seen it before, but where?

" _Albus! He's going into convulsions!"_

" _You can stabilise him just like before!"_

" _This isn't fixable, Albus! Something is tearing this boy apart! Even if I can physically fix him—his mind, what about his mind!"_

 _Black hair. Dark eyes that shone with an eerie red glow. Pale, pale skin._

 _Suddenly, the boy… changed. The hair became blacker. The eyes stared back at me as he screamed silently. His body was convulsing. Slytherin colours. Sweat poured down the boy's pale face. His stained, yellow teeth were curved into pointed fangs. Fur was sprouting over his body._

 _Werewolf! My mind screamed, but no. No it wasn't a full moon._

 _A snarling muzzle pushed out of his face as his agonised screams continued. He leapt from the bed, snarling, his teeth bared and talons outstretched to attack!_

" _Stop." Albus said, looking sombre. The creature snarled but stopped._

" _Obliviate."_

 _The scene changed to a young girl who was more feline than human—her body twisted and changed by an accident involving Polyjuice. My hands were passing her a potion that shimmered with flecks of red and gold, and something told me that this was not for the first time. The girl mutely took the potion and drank it. Strange, intricate runes covered her skin, spanning across her young body like a cartographer's map._

 _The scene changed. The same girl stood framed by the moonlight as it streamed through the infirmary window. She was growing, changing. She was taller now—a long, bushy mane of curls tumbled around her head. She turned from the window and stared at me with black, black eyes. Her muzzle curled into a snarl as she stared balefully at me. Her body changed fluidly. She grew in height and her body shifted into that of a fearsome beast—a chimaera of monstrous traits. Dark wings unfolded from her back as tentacles waved behind her._

 _Her muzzle wrinkled in a threatening growl, but her tentacles poked her, rubbing against her cheek as her whiskers pulled on her face. Her ears went flat as a flicker of recognition registered on her face. The curl of her snarl softened. Her long talons slowly relaxed. Her tentacles hummed and purred, stroking her ears gently as sanity seemed to return to her. I could feel a stir of magic—powerful, powerful magic—like a siren's song._

" _I thank you for healing me, Poppy," the beast said in a woman's voice. "My control is usually much better than that. I fear I must apologise for my abysmal behaviour." She sniffed the air, nostrils flaring. "I have not yet eaten, and this endangers you."_

 _Her talons brushed my cheek very carefully. "I am truly sorry." The pads of her talons touched my skin so very gently, almost like a fond lover's caress. "Obliviate tempus defluo."_

 _Then I heard a faint whisper. "You've always been a good friend, Poppy."_

Abruptly, I was jolted awake from the memory, feeling the caress of that beast's paws on my face. I felt the tenderness—remembered the sincere regret in her eyes. Compassion on the face of a monstrous beast.

" _Are you okay?" the beast snarled, blood dripping from its claws as the masked Dark wizard fell to the floor. The Dark Mark was on his wrist._

 _I had been in Hogsmeade getting supplies. He had come out of nowhere._

 _I felt myself nodding._

 _Again, the soft caress of paws on my face, velvet against my skin that belied the wickedly curved talons. "Obliviate tempus defluo," she whispered. "Go back to Hogwarts, Poppy," her voice said in a whisper against my ear. "Do not stray."_

I blinked away the memory, my eyes tearing up from the strength of the regret I was remembering.

" _I feel like I've known you forever, Hermione," I heard myself saying as I passed her a vial of tincture for her to take to the Deputy Headmistress. "I don't know why. It seems like I can always talk to you."_

 _Hermione smiled at me. Warmth and compassion filled her eyes that felt like the brush of fur against my skin. "I am very good at keeping secrets," she said softly. The air smelled of the night, chocolate, peppermint, and—pancakes fresh from the griddle._

 _Her hand brushed against mine and squeezed it tenderly. "I will always remember you," she said, seemingly randomly. Her smile was ineffably sad as she turned and left the room, making me feel a tug of loss at her absence._

"Hermione," I said out loud, instantly regretting it.

Strangely, Albus wasn't paying attention, his focus clearly elsewhere, deep within his own mind.

"Good afternoon, Poppy," he said, standing up. "I thank you for the cream, my dear."

As he walked away, the rather awkward and obvious bulge of a tail that he appeared to have hidden inside his robes, I wondered if Albus had dipped into the same magic that had twisted three innocent children into monsters: one but in the mind, and the other two physically.

Before I forgot, I placed the newfound memories into a vial as well and corked it, sealing it with my wand. I put it in another bag and summoned another owl. "Take these to Amelia Bones," I heard myself say. I watched the owl take off out the window and disappear.

This was no longer a simple matter of healer-to-healer cooperation. This was proof that something decidedly sinister had been going on in the very halls of Hogwarts, events that stretched all the way back to the time of Tom Riddle himself.

Sweet, merciful Merlin, what in the _world_ had happened inside these hallowed halls?

As I gazed thoughtfully at the open door the Headmaster had just walked out of, a sinking feeling began to gather in my stomach.

Was Albus Dumbledore a victim? Or the one behind it all?

It couldn't be—

What kind of monster would experiment on innocent children and for what purpose?

My memory surfaced of the beast clutching the body of the fallen Death Eater, only to fling it to the ground after she had rescued me. The beast had known no fear. The beast had be absolutely merciless.

Yet—that sorrow and the soft brush of velvet paws against my face.

That beast had been Hermione.

The beast _was_ Hermione.

" _I regret to inform everyone that unfortunately your fellow classmate, Hermione Granger, was slain in a Death Eater attack during the summer holidays," Headmaster Dumbledore had said during the opening feast. "Also, our own Professor Snape has sadly gone missing. Professor Slughorn has agreed to teach and serve as the head of Slytherin house in his stead. Professor Mettle has agreed to accept the position of Professor in Defence Against Dark Arts this year as well."_

"Stop," Dumbledore's voice had commanded the beast that had once been but a boy.

The beast had instantly obeyed.

Oh _no_.

Headmaster Dumbledore wasn't trying to cure the children. _He_ was the one transforming them!

I rushed out of the Hospital Wing to find Minerva, praying I could get to her before I ran into the Headmaster again, because I knew I wouldn't be able to keep the horror off of my face if I were to see him now. He would then know that _I_ knew, and a man who could find it within himself to create such monsters out of his own students would have little care for the likes of _me_.

* * *

"Severus, you're _**alive!**_ " Minerva glomped onto the stiff Potions Master with abandon, completely ignoring his protests and typically dour expression.

All of our things had been smuggled away to this rather charming shared flat deep within the bowels of the Ministry, or rather, the DoM. It was a place I had no idea even existed, and after having passed by the rather intimidating gryphon guarding the entryway and being sniff-tested by about a score of adult gargoyles not including their pups, one dragon, and a charming hippogriff named Nancy, I was feeling much better about the relocation. Seeing Severus there, though—I hadn't even realised I had been holding my breath.

" _Mère! Mère!"_ an excited group of gargoyle pups were jumping up and down, wings flapping together in a clap _. "Quiest cette personne la?"_

"My lovelies," a bushy-haired woman said with a warm smile. "This is Minerva McGonagall and Poppy Pomfrey. Say hello!"

The mass of gargoyle pups turned to regard us, all of them intently staring at us both. " _Bonjour, madames!_ " They looked at us intently, unearthly still.

Minerva and I exchanged glances. "Hello, pleased to meet you," I said.

" _Je suis très heureux de faire votre connaissance!"_

" _Je suis très heureuse de faire votre connaissance!"_

The pups all stared, but their wings clapped together as their noses worked to sniff us over. The woman with the warm smile, said something in what sounded like French, growling, and purring at the same time, and the pups crooned happily, rubbing up against her. One clung to her shoulder, whispering something into her ear, and she smiled and ruffled the creature's scruffy mane and the space between its wings.

The pups spread around the flat, sniffing everything and even looking over some things to investigate the possibility of other things that might be behind them. One pup seemed a little more shy than the others and clung to the woman's back and snuggled her neck, yet the woman didn't seem to mind. She touched noses with the pup and rubbed cheeks.

Minerva was losing her heart and half of her sandwich to a dark blue pup with webbed ears and spaded tail. She looked years younger just when she smiled, and the pup curled up on her lap, exposing its belly for her to rub.

"That's Bamf," the curly-haired woman said as she glided over with an eerie sort of grace. "The rose-gray lady over there is Sabine, and most of the rest haven't named themselves yet." The pup on her shoulder tugged on her ear, which I noticed was distinctively tufted with fur and pointed. "This guy is Klinger. Severus said it was fitting because he clings to you like a cockleburr."

The brown gargoyle pup beamed happily, showing his pristine ivory teeth.

I felt my heart melting as I gazed at the pup, and he wiggled his little rear before hopping over to greet me face-to-muzzle. He pressed his cool nose to mine and whuffled, his breath tickling my nose.

"Hrrr!" A pointy-eared pup said, his paws on my knee. He looked up at me with soft brown eyes and a peach-coloured face.

"That one is Radar," the woman said with a chuckle. "He's the first to sense trouble and tell everyone about it."

A bird-headed gargoyle pup pounced on Radar and they tussled around, growling and batting at each other in play.

"And this miscreant," the woman said, plucking the pup up and cuddling him, "is Hawkeye."

The dark-green and black-maned pup made a hawk-like scream and cuddled back mercilessly.

"Go on, love," the woman said. "Go see where they put everything so you're not trying to play catch-up with your brothers and sisters." She kissed them both on the head, and they croon-purred at her before merrily chasing each other into the next room.

"They'll take inventory of everything and where you put it," the woman said with a laugh. "Chances are if you forget where you put something, they'll know exactly where you left it."

"I've never seen so many gargoyles in once place," I said with no small amount of wonder.

"Well, if you are here, you'll see a lot of them. They'll pop in and out at will to check on your things and then pop out, kind of like cats that decide to tear around the flat at odd hours of the night."

"Do I _know_ you?" The words came out, unbidden, and I realised I was staring at her.

She had such a sombre sadness about her even though she was smiling.

"Perhaps," she said softly.

"Please, tell me how do I know you?"

"They do not recognise your true face," Severus said, coming up behind the woman. He pressed her close to him in a sort of intimacy I had never seen or expected to see from Severus in all the years I'd known him—boy, teen, or adult.

She placed her hands on her face and sighed. "Perhaps, this is not the face you would recall as much as—" she passed her hand over her face as a blur of change rippled across her features and a more youthful face peered out at me through a bushy mane of curls.

"Hermione," I whispered.

"Hullo," Hermione replied.

"You're _**alive!**_ " I said, crushing her to me. "Merlin, you're alive." I was weeping, wailing, and clutching her to me.

I stared at her—the memories of her compassion and sorrow surging up from the prison of my mind. I remember the light brush of her paws against my face.

"You're the beast," I blurted.

The sorrow in her tugged at my heartstrings. "I am."

"You saved my life," I whispered, cupping her face in my hands. "Thank you."

" _Pas de quoi,_ " she said with a tug of a smile on her lips. Her face then reverted back to the older woman's more world-weary appearance. A slight movement caught my eye, and a black tentacle gently curled the hair around her ears and groomed it into proper order before disappearing back under her collar.

"You don't have to hide them," I said. "May I… see them?"

Hermione smiled. "Once you meet them, they will never want to hide around you again."

"I don't mind."

Inky blank tentacles emerged from her collar and peered almost shyly at me. I reached out my hand, and they slid against my fingers. It was like velvet and the finest silk mated together. One of them had a poppy flower clutched in its tiny, fanged mouth and placed it in my hand. Another jingled at me, sporting a flashy, miniature ring of jingles around its "neck."

As I tentatively pet the nearest tentacle, the others hissed and jabbed at it jealously, fighting for pets as well.

"How many—?" I asked in wonder.

"Oh, over two dozen," Hermione said with an amused smile. "I gain one every time someone hits me with an offensive spell."

"Offensive—to your taste?" I mused.

"Hah, no—offensive as in meant to kill me," Hermione said. "I can't imagine why."

Severus snorted, pressing his nose into her hair. She turned and wrapped her arms around his waist and looked up at him with a sparkle in her eyes. He stared down at her with a softness— genuine emotion that was blindingly affectionate. He leaned in with a low, purring growl, and Hermione rubbed her cheek against him. A warm brush of energy like warm fur brushing against my skin tickled my arms and left gooseflesh in its wake.

I realised in that moment that they were bonded in the ancient magic that no magical worth their, well, magic could deny. I didn't need to see the rings on their fingers to know they were bound together tighter than any brand or token of possession. They were each others' beacon throughout life.

"Congratulations," I said, having nothing more profound to say but to acknowledge their bond.

"Hermione?" Minerva's voice was so quiet.

Hermione turned to look at her once professor and former Head of House. "Hello, Professor," she said politely.

"Oh, lass," the Scottish witch pulled her into a tight embrace. "You're alive— you're all grown up."

As Minerva squeezed the smaller witch in her arms and held her tight, the gargoyle pups hummed as their wings flapped in a clapping noise. Minerva grabbed Severus into the hug and hugged them both as she let out a sob of relief. "Ah, my lad and lassie. Nothing could possibly make this day any better."

 **Fwoooop!**

A pile of gargoyle pups teleported in with a passenger, which proceeded to fall flat on his face on the floor. He groaned, rubbing his head as he rolled over to expose his startling green eyes, a face covered in scratches and scrapes, and an unruly mop of black hair that had been so caked with dust and dirt that it had obliterated the colour of his normal hair.

"Mr Potter?" Minerva and I said together.

"Mister. Potter," Severus said, punctuating the space between the two words as clearly as a speed bump.

"Oh, Merlin, it's _you_ ," Potter blurted, staring at Severus like he was the demon Mephistopheles made flesh and bone. "Please, if you're going to kill me, just do it quickly."

Severus arched one brow as Hermione shook her head.

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, Mr Potter," Severus said, "but it appears your days as a wanted fugitive gallivanting about Britain in a tent has reached its end at last."

Harry Potter wasn't listening. His head rolled as his eyes went back into his head and he collapsed in pure exhaustion.

"We found him!" one of the pups exclaimed.

"Found him!"

"Covered in mud!"

"Up to his waist!"

"Mud everywhere."

"Mud ate his stick."

"I fetched his stick!" One pup spat out a muddy wand and it splorched on the floor with a splat.

"Is it him?"

"Do we have to take him back?"

"Is it the wrong muddy wizard?"

"All muddy wizards smell the same."

"I found a sword!" one pup said, spitting out a shining goblin-forged sword. "It being carried by that one!" The gargoyle pointed a paw.

The larger gargoyle pup spat out a pillowcase-wearing house-elf covered in mud. Dobby fell fast first into the floor in fright, unconscious.

"Did we do good?"

"Do good?"

"Did we?"

Hermione hugged the pups to her, cleaning them off with her wand. " _Je t'aime tellement,"_ she cooed her praise. They all clapped their wings happily, rushing over to share in the praise and the hugs.

Severus hit the house-elf with a stunning spell. "Very good, indeed," he said, his voice a low, rumbling purr.

"I stand corrected," Minerva said, shaking her head. "This day just got even better."

"Mew!" a blue kitten mewled from atop Potter's head, batting at the mud.

"And even more amusing as time goes on," I agreed.

Severus' lips curved up in a smug smile.

* * *

 **A/N:** Gargoyle pups, unlike some human children, earn their keep from an early age. Heh. Heh. Heh. As for the Kneazle kitten, well, someone had to be king of the Potter mountain.


	4. Found One Potter Slightly Used, Abused

**A/N:** And now the conclusion of: Shadow Play

 **Beta Love:** The Dragon and the Rose, Dutchgirl01, and Flyby Commander Shepard

* * *

 **Shadow Play**

Chapter 4: Found. One Potter. Slightly Used, Abused, and Misused. Free To A Good Home

* * *

 _-Minerva-_

"Whuuat?" Harry blurted, disorientated and exhausted.

The blue kitten was still sitting on his head when Poppy whisked the befuddled boy into the temporary delousing and bathing-slash-examination room. Kneazles, however, apparently love water and are equally happy about soap because the kitten bounced back into the room with a mane of soap suds and pounced his brothers and sisters mercilessly.

Poppy, good old Poppy. That witch could handle Armageddon with a sigh and a wave of her wand. Nothing really rattled her, save abuse, and part of me started to connect the dots that there were gaping holes there, still, and would remain until she slowed down a little to gain some cognitive therapy and un-Obliviation.

Gods knew I had needed it.

The blue kitten, which I heard Hermione tutting his name, Martijn, mewled and tussled with the brown and black tortoiseshell— Tom, I believe it was. Both kittens were seemingly determined to smear more suds on the other as they tore off chasing each other back into the other room to make hay. I heard crashing noises shortly after, and both kittens were carried back into the room by a larger grey Kneazle. They wiggled and mewled, unhappy to be deprived of their fun, but the elder Kneazle wasn't having any of it.

"Awww, you little buggers," Hermione cooed, lifting the kittens and plunking them into the enchanted kitten hamper. "Bed time for you before your daddy has to sit on you to get you to stay still." Each of Hermione's tentacles were caressing the kittens, putting them to bed.

"Mew!" the two miscreants complained. I could almost hear them saying "don't wanna don't wanna don't wanna!"

The large grey Kneazle plunked some catnip mice into the hamper, and suddenly the kittens all had a mouse, cuddled it, and was fast asleep. Dang, they were cute.

Suddenly the large grey Kneazle coughed, and Garrick Ollivander stood in its place. "Good evening, Madam McGonagall."

Blink.

Blink, blink.

"Many secrets hidden in the Department of Mysteries," the Kne— Garrick said.

I was still blinking.

"Garrick!" Hermione said. "You're horrible! You didn't even give her a chance to guess!"

The man who was a Kneazle, or the Kneazle that was a man grinned at me. Same old Ollivander. How had I never guessed?

"Give an old Kneazle some fun, Hermione. You'll understand when you're a few thousand years old."

Hermione's tentacles stood on end and whispered to each other. I could hear them hissing back and forth. "I don't think I'll have that much time," Hermione said.

"You just keep telling yourself that," Garrick chuckled.

Hermione huffed, blowing hair out of her face. It was so odd to see her so grown, so adult. It was almost as if her face now matched the spark of intelligence she had always had— but now—

Hermione's hand was on my shoulder, a warm smile on her face. It was a true smile. "It's hard at first, getting to know this," she said, gesturing to herself. One of her tentacles purred at me. I had no idea they could do that either. She leaned down over the kitten hamper and pulled out a brown kitten with golden dapples. The kitten mewled cutely and blinked at me. "This is Saskia. She'll sleep right over your neck and make you feel right at home."

I think my heart melted. The kitten sleepily walked off Hermione's hands and curled up right over my bosom, making herself at home. Garrick was smiling at me with approval. "You know, she'd love to go on adventures with her Auntie," he said with a wink.

My eyes widened, and my face crinkled. "Aww," I blurted, hugging the little kitten to myself.

Severus walked back in, looking quite tired. "Pups are finally asleep. I don't know how you do it, Hermione."

"Helps to fall into the rookery and be imprinted to the clan," she replied.

Severus arched a brow. "The things a person misses out on."

Hermione's tail corkscrewed around Severus' as she hugged him. "Forgive me, love," she said, her eyes warm.

"Whatever for?" Severus asked.

Hermione stepped away, seemingly painfully, and passed her hand over herself. Her body shimmered and changed— younger, bushier— and her tentacles pouted as they folded against her back and hid under her robes. "I fear Harry has a lot of revelations to come to terms with, but only so many at a time would be best."

Severus sighed, his tentacles seemed to pout as they rubbed against her cheek and then took into hiding, just as hers had.

True, I had memories that were hidden, but deep down, I had known the truth long ago. Potter— not so much. I could only imagine what finding out how old your friend really was along with finding out she was mated to your hated Potions professor would do to your already abused psyche. I was an old witch. I'd been teaching long enough that very little surprised me— save that somehow kids survived really stupid acts of— stupid and sheer dumb luck.

"You may want to—" Severus began, making a gesture with his hand.

"Oop!" Hermione blushed, making her tail vanish. "I've become rather fond of not having to hide my extra appendages," she confessed.

"It is— a very accepting place here," Severus said, a tug of a smile on his lips.

Hermione grinned. She looked at me. "We figure Harry will be more at ease if he has one 'peer' to talk to, even he wasn't really allowed to interact with me much."

I nodded. "I understand. Hermione—"

Her hand closed around mine, and even though her face looked so familiar and young, the feel of her magic was warm and mature, flowing across her skin and through her body through old channels. How had I not noticed it before?

"You weren't supposed to notice, Professor," Hermione said, so much sorrow in her expression and in her eyes. "Do not feel bad that you didn't. There is more you noticed than you remember, and one day, you will remember again, like Alastor."

I held her hand tightly. I nodded my head silently, feeling as though I had failed her. "Please, call me Minerva." It didn't feel right with her calling me professor anymore. She was an Unspeakable— the top of the top, _crème de la crème_. She was also a dangerous XXXXX magical creature thanks to none other than Albus Dumbledore.

"Are you going to be all right?" Hermione asked, rubbing my hand. "It can be a lot to take in, just me, not even all the rest."

I found myself looking to Severus for some clue as to how to react, and then I realised that he, too, had gone through a rather shocking life changes too. All of us had—

"I'll be all right soon enough, dear," I said. "My pride is hurt that I didn't— couldn't—help you, recognise something—"

"If you had known, Minerva," Severus said, his voice rumbling with that familiar low drone, "he would have made sure you forgot."

I sighed. He was right, but I still felt like a complete oblivious and horrible example of responsibility.

"Mewwww," Saskia said, rubbing against my chin and bonking into it.

"Tell you what, my friend," Ollivander said with a wink. "You can kittensit Saskia tonight. I think she wants to make sure you're all hers before the other kittens get a go at it."

I felt my heart quiver as I soothed the kitten's ears. "Are you sure?"

Ollivander grinned. "The kittens choose their people," he replied. "They are a lot like wands."

"Mew!" Saskia said, radiating the kind of unmatched love that made me melt.

"I— well I guess there is no objecting then," I said.

Ollivander smiled, and it was a very feline smile. I should know considering I was a tabby Animagus. "No, there isn't."

* * *

 _-Hermione-_

To be honest, I had no idea how to treat Harry anymore, but the poor sod looked weathered to the bone and beyond tired. To be fair, I was tired too, and I really wanted to curl up with my mate and all our pesky tentacles and whiskers and dream of the demise of Dumbledore— yet at the same time had it not been for Dumbledore, there was a good chance Severus and I would not be together. Was it fair to be both thankful and want someone to pay at the same time? Was that even a thing?

My shadow yawned expressively, and I could feel every one of my tentacles yawning in return, and the power of suggestion made me yawn as well, my tongue lolling out like a lion's between my exposed fangs.

Careful there, Hermione. We don't want to scare the pudding out of Harry this early. The point was to save him from his doomed quest with no backup, not scare him to death.

There was the rub, really. I wasn't exactly built for comfort to the human soul. Whatever it was that I had become, most people would probably not be looking for warm hugs and a cuddle, which is sad, really. I had a feeling my tentacles would love to oblige a good hug and cuddle. Good thing they had me. I loved hugs and cuddles. It was like self-fulfilling prophecy.

Severus' mental rumble sent a shiver down to my toes as he pouted that he'd rather be hugging and cuddling me instead of watching me run off to babysit Harry. About a half dozen gargoyle pups hummed in my head at the prospect of cuddles as well. Who said being a monster didn't give you hugs. Hah!

"Mew!"

I looked down.

Tiny paws touched my leg as a bright white face stared at me. The purple kitten looked up at me longingly.

"Hello, Evelien," I greeted.

"Mew!" she replied, a request or a command.

I picked her up and snuffled her, face to face. Her little tail stood straight up in commanding feline fashion as she head bonked my chin.

"Shouldn't you be in bed with your brothers and sisters?"

She stared at me adoringly, tail waving back and forth.

Kids. They always wanted to be up and in the middle of your business— especially super secret covert business.

She licked me on the nose, and I cuddled her, getting happy purrs in return.

Feeling like I was taking a baby to an 18 suitable only for adults movie, I carried the kitten with me, silently hoping that the kitten wasn't old enough to be scarred or scared by anything she might see. Perhaps I could leave her with—

"MEW!" she clung to my collar, diving under my hair.

I frowned. Kittens had Legilimency. Disturbing.

"You better behave yourself, young lady," I told the kitten, and she purred back. I realised I'd been channeling my mother at that moment, something I swore to myself so many times I'd never do.

Walking into the "guest room" that had been "Potter proofed" by a grumbly Severus, I found Harry curled up in the armchair, wrapped in a cocoon of quilts. I knew he was probably feeling quite naked, having been dewanded, deloused, dedirtified, and detrackered. Where those even words? Hell if I know. Oh, and de-artefacted and de-House-elfed.

There had been a lot of shite on Harry. A lot, a lot. The Unspeakables' safety and containment team had done a number on him making him fit to be a guest in our place the moment he got out of the bathtub. Our neighbours, well the ones that weren't the immediate Garrick, Minerva, and Poppy, had all come in and done him a good sizing up and sniff over, sometimes quite literally. Bollywog was a dragon, so it was just his head sticking through the door. Having him over for dinner or brunch was going to require forethought and large, dead animals of the hoofed variety.

Or a small whale.

Harry was thankfully out cold at the time Bollywog had come in to do inspection— thank the gods for small favours. I'm not sure how I'd rate to a dragon, to the be honest. I was pretty intimidating (I swear it was the tentacles, maybe it was the wings or the tail… the whiskers? Sentient shadow? Hell, nevermind) but a dragon was— well he was a dragon!

One of my tentacles pouted, and by pouting, I mean it stuck its "face" into my ear canal and raspberried me. I patted it comfortingly. _There, there, love. You know I love you all._ It rubbed against my cheek, jingling a little with its goblin-made bling and dove back under my collar.

Silly things. So insecure. How did tentacles get insecure? Gosh. I think they were afraid I wanted to be rid of them to be normal, but I had become quite at home with my monsterself, as it were. I couldn't imagine life without the little buggers being there anymore than I could imagine not being able to fly with the gargoyle pups. No way I was giving up that, thank you very much.

If anyone asks if it's worth it to be turned into a monster to be able to brood over gargoyle pups, the answer is hell yes.

Most folks wouldn't believe me. Well… their loss then.

I'd say ask Severus if I was lying, but that experience might make a few people (or more than a few people) run for the hills. His ability to strike terror into the lives of anyone did not expire with graduation or his Unspeakables uniform. Yet, Severus was also the victim of gargoyle pup and kitten pile ups, that had no shame about snuggling with him, so who was really right there?

Then again, gargoyle pups and Kneazle kittens had no shame about cuddling anyone, the scarier the better. Rumour had it that Edwin, the dusky pink narcoleptic Kneazle kitten, had really taken a shine to Bollywog, and they were often found sleeping together in the sun.

"Hello, Harry," I said, sitting down on the other armchair.

"Hermione? Is that really you?" Harry gasped.

"Real as rain," I replied, realising that wasn't quite the normal "Hermione answer" he would expect. "Of course it's me, Harry," I corrected. "Who else would I be?" I tapped my teeth for emphasis.

That seemed to placate him and he smiled tiredly. "It's so good to see someone I know," he said. "I've had a hellacious few months."

"What happened, Harry?" I asked. I offered him a cuppa as I nursed my own. "You just disappeared over the summer and then you, Ron, and Ginny didn't even come back to school."

Harry stared down at his feet, which had somehow gained fluffy duck-shaped stockings. Everytime he rubbed them together they quacked softly. Ah, magic. The gift that kept on giving. "Dumbledore has us on a quest. We were supposed to keep it quiet, but it all went to pot. Ginny— I think she had been using a glamour over herself. One day, though, she was throwing up. Ron suspected— and he just blew up. He grabbed Ginny by the collar and Disapparated, yelling that there was no way his baby sister— his _pregnant_ baby sister— was going to stay out in the woods avoiding Death Eaters, no matter _what_ Dumbledore had told her. He forgot the artefact concealed where we were. I couldn't afford to take it off, so he couldn't come back to me."

What a vague reason to be out in the forest dodging Death Eaters. "Harry, what on Earth could be so important and desperate that Dumbledore would send a _child—_ barely seventeen, don't look at me like that, Harry— who never even held a job, worked out there where real life had you at a wand tip with Dark Wizards— to do his tasks? What special power did you have that the rest of us did not?" I kept my voice even. I kept it sympathetic and very Hermione— the swotty fellow student who had a level head but a propensity for idealism and a tendency to see things through rose-coloured glasses.

Truthfully, I wanted to shake him, but there was a part of me that knew I had been just as blind to Dumbledore's manipulations. Albus was good— better than good— at telling a person just enough to get them motivated. It wasn't beyond him to manipulate Harry to run some fool's errand—

 _Wait…_

"What, exactly, did he have you doing, Harry?" I asked again.

"He had us move to various different places. Dobby would bring us fresh supplies and a piece of paper with the next place to go. We would get the artefact. We'd wrap it up in a special cloth and went it back with Dobby, and the next day we'd get our new location to go to. But—"

Harry took a deep breath. "When Ron found out about Ginny, we got in a really big row over it. He Disapparated with her, and it was just me. I thought I could do it by myself, and at first, I could. But without someone to talk to, I started going mad. Seeing things. I thought I saw Ron in so many places, but it never was. I couldn't sleep, got confused— fell into some quicksand. Thought I was a goner. Dobby came to my rescue, but he fell into the sand too. I'm not sure why, but I think the sand devoured magic or suppressed it somehow. Dobby couldn't Apparate anymore. The sand turned to mud, thick and horrible. The mud covered me, and the next thing I knew was darkness. When I could see again, Snape was there giving me the death glare. I figured I was in hell."

"Professor Snape, Harry," I said automatically.

"At least nothing changes with you, Hermione," Harry said. "That's comforting."

I remained silent. Oh, if you only knew, laddie. Ach, Daddy-Moody was infecting my speech patterns again. That would turn poor Harry on his keister listening to me talk like a drunken Scotsman.

"Where are we, Hermione?" Harry asked.

"Guest quarters," I replied as honestly as I could. "You're safe here, Harry."

"I haven't felt safe in almost a year," Harry confessed.

"Mew!" Evelien said, striding out from my hair and storm down my leg and pounce Harry's knee. Even under the cocoon of blankets, felines have this eerie way to detect where your knees and your kidneys are. Magical Kneazles? No exception there.

As expected, therapy had nothing on kittens. They were the bee's knees. Harry pet the purple kitten with soothing strokes, his eyes going unfocused and his tension draining out of him. He didn't even question that the kitten was most definitely purple. It looked like a kitten, purred like a kitten— colour seemed moot, I suppose.

Maybe Moody could train them to be interrogators. A few pets and you'd be singing like a bird, spilling your guts as though you'd drank the bottle of Veritaserum. I don't recommend that, by the way. Ever. You'd be unable to spout the truth for months, if not permanently, well, if it was the stuff I brewed, anyway, provided you survived the toxicity of drinking the equivalent of a hundred doses of serum at once.

I brewed the Dewy, Cheatum, and Howe brand Veritaserum, and it made the typical kind look like Muggle Kool-aid. And yes, I could brew it and dispense it while sliding under a closing castle grate, like every other potion I had to brew with my three eccentric masters.

Harry sighed. "He wanted us to break into the Lestrange Vault. That was the one thing we hadn't figured out how we were going to do it. I mean, we had a way to get in, but not to open the vault. It was the one quest we could not finish."

I itched one of my tentacles surreptitiously. "The Lestrange vault? In Gringotts?" Gringotts was always the first place, but some pureblood families kept side vaults that stashed things in— things that screamed and writhed in the dark— things that shouldn't exist. Even the goblins didn't want that in their vaults, but mainly because stuff like that tended to escape and "infect" things in other vaults. That was bad for business.

Harry nodded. "Ginny wanted to go in to visit the Weasley Vault or even my vault and then sneak off to the Lestrange vault, but even if we weren't seen, we'd still have to get into it, and none of us could figure out how to do that without a goblin on our side."

That wasn't likely— unless the goblin had something really tempting in return. It wouldn't be gold, that's for sure. Brandywine had spent enough time drilling goblin-philosophy, social quirks, and language into us that I knew the only way a goblin would even consider such a traitorous deal was if it meant bringing something like a relic into goblin hands or as a favour for an honoured ally. Both were as rare as Tazmanian Tapdancing Fungus. The alliance between the goblins and the DoM was one of those alliances, and it dated back to— well, let's just say it went back long enough that no one actually remembered when. Once you were in with goblins, it was like a blood-bonded magical oath. Both sides knew better than to fuck it up.

 _Language, Hermione._

 _Oh, do stuff it._

My inner self not-so-politely told me where to stick it. I'm _such_ a jerk.

Something felt off about the Lestrange Vault quest. Something more dangerous. I wanted to say it felt more— real. It would take a few hours for them to sort through Harry's testimonies and memories. My little interrogation was more for immediate answers, but was limited upon what Harry was willing to give to a fellow "peer."

I had a feeling, though, that Harry was more willing to speak about his adventure now that he'd been rescued from drowning in magic-suppression mud. Master Cheatum had been good about teaching me about that stuff. Natural substances that were so high in concentrated Earth magic that it did exactly opposite what you might expect. It dampened your magic instead of strengthening it, which is why they taught me things like orientation and wilderness survival. Getting out of quicksand is a bitch, but the truth about it is that it rarely ever is deep enough to actually drown you like they do in the jungle movies. It can, however, t rap you to the point where getting out of it is nigh impossible without help. That was the truth. Now, if you were one of those unfortunate sods that got sucked into quicksand and got spit out into a sinkhole, well that's a totally different issue. Sinkholes could be quite fatal, but that was because you literally had all the ground shift, suck you under, and then bury you alive. There was also the soil liquefaction factor. It was all kinds of complex. I vaguely remember something about shear factor and applied stress. Muggle history has plenty of freak photos of cars seemingly sunken right into the ground, buildings tipped and sunken as if foundations were for show and not function.

What it all boiled down to was that Harry was damn lucky to be alive, and that the gargoyle pups were avid search and rescue beasts, even at their age. Their ability to snatch Dobby right out of the air and drag him back proved that time and again. It was no wonder that Amelia was so happy to have them around. Imagine what they could do as grown specimens if as children they could do what they did.

Mind you, gargoyles only did things that benefitted their clan or those they trusted. The pups had gone off on the quest because I had needed to find Harry. That was all they cared about. I hadn't asked, they had just realised it was something I wanted and they wanted to please me because I was their mère. I had the bite marks to prove it.

"Harry, what was in the Lestrange vault that you had to get?" I asked.

"I'm not sure exactly. A cup or something, but he said I'd know it when I saw it."

 _Very_ vague.

"Mew!" the kitten bopped Harry on the nose.

Harry stared at the kitten in surprise. "We were saving that task for last. It was the only one that required us to break into a bank. Ginny was thinking if we talked to her father, _he_ could talk to the Aurors, and we could get in officially on Auror business, but Ron said their father would never allow that. He'd want to know why, and we couldn't tell him why."

BOP!

"Gah!" Harry stared at the kitten who seemed to be giving him the stare I thought only Severus capable of— well, and Moody-dad. If they had a glaring contest who would win?

"It's not like we could tell him anything!" Harry protested to the kitten. "We didn't even know _why_!"

Kneazle kittens are apparently born interrogators. Who knew?

The purple kitten glowered at Harry. "Mew!"

"Dumbledore used Dobby to deliver the tasks," Harry told the kitten. "We weren't supposed to know anything else!"

Bop!

"To protect us!"

Bap! (Right across the face. Ouch.)

Harry slumped. "We _have_ to trust him! He's Dumbledore!"

"Meeeyew." The kitten punctuated as clearly as Severus. Oh dear. We were such horrible role models.

"I just want it to be over. I want to be Harry. Just Harry. Not the Boy Who Lived, not the guy who somehow survived the impossible— not the bloke with the bloody scar," Harry groaned. "He _promised_. He promised when it was finally over, I'd be free."

Evelien bounced over to my lap, kneaded it, and curled up to sleep, her job apparently done. I rubbed her ears. Chalk one up for the Kneazle kitten.

* * *

I left Harry to sleep in a comfortable bed, his exhaustion finally catching up to him. All the information he knew, which wasn't much, all led back to Dumbledore, but then we already knew that it would. One thing was for certain. The Lestrange vault had something important in it, but all we had to go on was that it was a cup of some sort and somehow Harry would know what it was— just not until he saw it with his own eyes.

There was something else, too. His scar.

Until I had him here in my own "territory" so to speak, I hadn't realised just how strange that scar on his head was. It was ominously heavy with Dark magic—thick and different. I could feel it writhing under his skin, trying to come "play" and join the lake of magic deep inside me. Something had changed.

"Severus," I said, sitting next to him on the couch. He pulled me beside him with a soft rumble. "Is there a kind of magic that— expires after a certain time, like years later?"

I could feel his frown without seeing it. "In regards to what, exactly?"

"Harry's mark, the scar," I replied. "I can feel it now— the magic in it— and until now I never did. Not once. And that's not normal for me."

Severus' tentacles hissed towards mine, and they rubbed up against each other. There was a rush of warmth and awareness, and my eyes widened as I realised he had shared sensation with me, including the one with Harry's scar. "There are some spells linked to family magic. Great sacrifice, but those are protection spells. Lily— her sacrificial death shielded Harry, but familial magic has to be renewed say, once a year, by the closeness of another family member. The magic is protective, powerful, but concealing, no. That's not the nature of it."

"That was different," he said after a moment, "the sharing, that is."

"Does it bother you?" I asked. My tentacles perked, tiny question marks almost visible over each one.

Severus pulled me close, rubbing my shoulders. "No, it feels nice to be able to share everything— that someone else can trust me."

"He did a real number on us both, didn't he?" I asked.

Severus pressed his face into my hair, and I could hear him snuffling. "He was— is— a master of it. Do you think Potter will be receptive to the truth?"

"It will be hard," I replied. "But he will be far more apt to to believe it if the revelation comes from someone he's not been specifically conditioned not to trust."

"Well, I'm out," I said with a snort. "A peer is hardly the same when getting news like that."

"You are hardly a peer," Severus noted.

I smiled. "Commiserator?"

It was his turn to snort. "If he is anything like his father and a drop like his mother, he will trust Dumbledore until the sky is torn asunder and the very Earth opens up to devour him. It will take someone who has been left out of Dumbledore's immediate mention to break through it. Anyone from Hogwarts would be out, is my guess, because no one but Dumbledore was to be trusted there."

"Eventually," Severus said with a sigh, someone is going to have to tell Potter that Albus gave that potion to age Ginny knowing full well what it would do to her

I snuggled into him, enjoying the feel of his warmth. In all the years I'd "worked" for Albus, it had never come with physical comfort. In a way, he did me a favour, because I'd become a lot closer to my shadow, whiskers, and tentacles, but it also made me appreciate this beautiful closeness. And I knew Severus felt it too. It wasn't just the brain link, no. It was because he was forged as I was— only he wasn't given the opportunity to get to know his more beastly assets.

We snuggled on the couch instead of retreating to bed. It was insanely comfortable. I think Minerva had charmed it to to promote optimum rest— either that or it just happened to feel like sleeping on a cloud. I wasn't complaining. For once, sleeping in a more human form felt okay, and that was something different. My eyelids were growing heavy, and I snuggled into Severus' arms, listening to the sound of his breaths.

Thump.

Thump.

Rustle. Rustle.

Thump.

I felt warm balls of fur dropping on us from the rim of the couch.

PurrrrRrrrRrrrrr.

Crookshanks wedged under my arm as multiple balls of Kneazle kitten deposited themselves all over us, finding comfortable niches to insert themselves. I felt my tentacles pop out from under my collar and cuddle the nearest kitten.

Bother. There'd be no getting rid of them now.

Sleep dragged me under without my express permission. It was such a Kneazle.

* * *

-Harry-

I woke to the chirping of birds, and for a moment I thought I was back in the wilds. I busted out of my sleeping roll, only to find it wasn't a sleeping roll at all. The duvet was tangled around me, and I tumbled to the floor with a thud, completely unused to sleeping on a bed. We'd lost the tent when we'd forgotten to stake it down, and it blew out into storm, never to be seen again. I'd tried to ask Dobby to have Dumbledore send us another, but the one he sent was the Muggle kind. It did have comfortable bedrolls though. I think Dumbledore had figured as long as we slept comfortably— well more comfortably than on dirt— we would be okay.

It took me a moment to realise I was some place with a roof over my head and an open window. A cool breeze wafted in and smelled of water and earth. Maybe I would have appreciated it more if I hadn't been spending the last year camping and on the run.

Vaguely, I remembered I'd spilled my gut to Hermione, finding relief in finally having someone to talk to that might judge me, but at least she wasn't out to get me. Ever since Dumbledore told us not to rely on Hermione because she has tasks to do, I'd had to rely on Ron and Ginny and my father's invisibility cloak. At least the cloak got me out of most of the trouble Ron and Ginny brought upon us nosing about Hogwarts, trying to learn what was being hidden from us.

I got the nagging feeling that I had been in more danger than anyone wanted to say, but it was chased down by a sense of failure that I hadn't managed to finish the last task for Dumbledore. Sure it was dangerous, but— it was for the greater good: the end of the war, right?

I wished Sirius was here to talk to. He'd understand; I was sure of it. But that wasn't going to happen because I'd killed him with my own impulsive stupidity. Oh, Bellatrix held the most of my blame, having done the deed, but deep in the pit of my stomach, I knew if I had just listened to Hermione when she pleaded with me to make sure he wasn't at Grimmauld Place—

Sirius would still be alive.

I'd had a lot of time alone to think about it, after all.

Kreacher's blatent lies— I had believed them. He had never been truthful to me before, why had I so eagerly believed him that night? Because of the vision? A nightmare? Planted in my bead by Voldemort? I'd done just what he wanted me to do.

Stupid.

Impulsive.

Idiot.

I'd failed at Occlumency. I'd sneaked in and watched Snape's horrible memories, watched my father— my _FATHER_ and his friends— torture the student-Snape, yet still I believed I didn't need some stupid Occlumency. I didn't need _SNAPE_ telling me anything.

Only now, I was starting to think that maybe, just maybe, my father _had_ been a swine. Maybe Professor Snape had every reason to hold a grudge, not that it was fair to take it out on me, but I was just as damned guilty of it as he had been. I'd never have believed such a thing before my year out on the run. I soaked up all the great things Sirius said about my dad, the hate they had for Snape— to the point where when Dumbledore himself had asked me to learn something from the man, I'd done everything I could except actually succeed at it.

Watched someone's memories without their permission? Oh yes.

Brassed off a professor who already had a hundred different reasons to hate me? Yup.

It wasn't until I'd been out on the run, needing spells and skills that worked, that I realised what a horrible student I had been. I'd really wished Hermione had been there to tell me just how spells were supposed to be. I'd let Ron make fun of her because it made him like me more, and the more he liked me, the more I got to see his family— a family that was magical and loved each other. But, just when I had begin to think maybe I should hang around her more, Dumbledore had whisked her away to do her own tasks.

Ron and Ginny, of course, wasted no time in making fun of her. They never called her a Mudblood— even _they_ had their limits, but the know-it-all had apparently only endeared herself to being mocked and helping with homework. Now, who was laughing? I wondered where Hermione was now. Probably taking her N.E.W.T.s and laughing her way to Gringotts with a good job before she even graduated.

I wondered where I was.

Guest room, Hermione had said. Her guest room or just a guest room somewhere she was? Where _was_ here, anyway?

I had seen Snape, unless it was a hallucination. I'd thought the Death Eaters had got me at last— but he hadn't. I was clean, fed, and— interrogated, but it had not been anything I'd have expected from say, Molly Weasley, on return from our quest.

I realised that the window could open further, and I decided to go exploring— but I should probably put on some trousers. Finding a pile of clean clothes nearby, I felt a twinge of relief that I was "back in civilisation." My wand, however, was missing in action.

A flash of memory told me my wand had sunken into the mud with me, and it was no one's fault but my own that it had. I sighed, pulled on the fresh clothes and slipped out of the window into what seemed like a garden in paradise.

"Kweh?" a bright yellow bird peered at me from the trees. It was munching on a mouthful of radish greens, the bright red radish dangling from its beak. It was taller than an ostrich, much more massive. It's large feet stomped on the ground with surprising softness. A cloud of fluffy, downy chicks ran around the bird's feet.

Kweh!

Wooheehoo!

Wark!

They all took mouthfuls of greens from the garden and walked off.

Ooooookay then.

A flock— _was_ it a flock? — of phoenixes whirled their eyes at me, their beaks full of peaches, strawberries and grapes. Big ones, small ones, and one was apparently working on a cantaloupe.

There was a fountain in the middle of the courtyard filled with koi, wait, no. It was filled with some sort of potion that shaped itself into a bunch of koi-shaped— what the _hell_?

I wanted to touch the water, but what the hell would it do to me?

As if to answer my question a tiny black lintball with bright eyes and bright red feet dipped its head into the "water" and drank, belched a symphonic chord, and tore off into the orchard.

I wasn't much of a singer, so maybe it would be an improvement.

"Many interesting things live here, protected from the outside world," a woman said as she strolled in. She nursed a mug of coffee in her hands. "I am Amelia," she introduced herself. "Welcome to our little piece of paradise on Earth."

A "flock" of tiny hippogriffs flew by, chasing each other, or rather, chasing the one in front that had a tiny, miniature ferret clutched in its beak. I couldn't help but stare.

"Does this unsettle you, Mr Potter?"

"Harry, please," I said. I wasn't feeling the Mr at all. "I'm just… I went to a magical school. I thought I'd seen almost everything thanks to Hagrid. Yet here— it's like a whole new world."

Amelia let out a soft snort. "I fear Mr Hagrid's reputation is far more seasoned with the dangerous than the symbiotic. Here, all the creatures form a balance, a true ecosystem. We have Arbormagi and Magizoologists that make sure all of our creatures and people have what they need to thrive."

"It's amazing," I admitted. I loved Hagrid, and he always _meant_ well, but after the Monstrous Book of Monsters and even Buckbeak, I did wonder about safety. Mind you, I thought that Draco deserved what he got, but Buckbeak didn't deserve to be prosecuted for Draco's reckless stupidity.

Hagrid's "dog" had almost eaten us. His blasted-ended skrewts had almost killed us. His dragonet had almost burnt down his hut. His half-brother had beaten Ginny up against a tree trying to figure out what would make her stop screaming.

All of them were "'armless, Harry."

Yet here— wow. I felt as though this is what my introduction to the Care of Magical Creatures should have been like.

" _Un. Deux. Un. Deux. Un. Deux!_ " a female voice said.

The sound of flapping drew my attention. An assortment of creatures clung to the side of the water fountain, stretching their wings out to the sun and folding them over and over.

I felt my jaw dropping again.

"Gargoyle pups," Amelia said fondly. "Aren't they adorable?"

They were. They really were. I'd only seen one gargoyle in my life, and it guarded the Headmaster's office. "I— I had no idea they were social. The one at Hogwarts is alone. It guards the Headmaster's office."

"These are from a clan in France— probably one of the oldest lines of gargoyles in the world. As I recall, the one in Hogwarts is the last of a line that used to protect all of Hogwarts," Amelia said. "Something tragic happened, but no one knew what. Some said disease. Some said poison. Some said someone in Hogwarts offended them so much that they left. There were a lot of suppositions, but not enough evidence. All we know for sure is that shortly after Headmaster Dippet retired, the last of the gargoyles, save one, disappeared."

"I really should have read more of Hogwarts: A History," I said, suddenly regretting not ever reading Hermione's copy.

Amelia smiled, finishing her coffee and making the mug vanish with a hand wave. "You had us on quite a merry chase, Harry. What did you think of your time out there?"

I winced. Truth was, I _hated_ it once I realised just how unprepared I was— unprepared and unable to get better at anything. The first month, it was like camping and total freedom, but then I started to realise how little I knew. Between Ron, Ginny, and myself, we tended to fill in the spaces, but there were times when both Ron and I had— well, let's just say we vastly preferred Quidditch to homework. Most of the teachers chose to let it slide on Quidditch weeks, provided we turned it in the week after. Most anyway. Never Professor Snape, though. Both he and Professor McGonagall always wanted their assigned work done regardless of Quidditch.

"At first it was great, but—" I sighed. "Reality began to set in about a month in. The tasks were okay between the three of us, but when Ron up and left with Ginny, I think I started to go a bit mad. I talked to myself, named my snitch Barnabas, started chittering back at random squirrels— When Dobby finally arrived, I actually wanted him to stay and talk to me. I didn't care _what_ he talked about. Started to question why I was out there and what the hell I was doing."

"You doubted what you were doing was helping the war effort?"

Hah. I had plenty of doubts to spare. "I doubt a lot of things right now," I admitted. "Things never got any better. Any easier. If we were making a difference, shouldn't there have been some sign? A message? An attaboy or something, _any_ thing?"

I held my head in my hands. I was starting to realise I'd been a complete fool. "I have no idea what I was doing out there. I can tell you what I _thought_ I was doing, but I don't know if that was really what was going on."

"Mew!"

A chorus of mews heralded the arrival of a litter of multicoloured kittens. They pounced on the gargoyle pups, clung to them, and then the pups took off, carrying them off to places known only to them.

"I had horrible dreams out there. Worse than ever. Worse and worse on top of worse," I said. "Headmaster Dumbledore once tried to get me to study how to shield my mind against Vold—"

Amelia's hand was over my mouth in an instant. She shook her head adamantly. "There is a reason we call him He That Shall Not Be Named, Harry. Say his name, and he can trace you wherever you are. Now, this place has some elaborate wards that make it impossible to complete the name to keep kids from saying it accidently, but you should get in the habit of not saying it. It would endanger you and everyone you were with."

I felt the blood drain from my face. "But— why didn't anyone tell me this?"

"Most people just know not to say the name, Harry," she said quietly. "Even if they don't think of the reason. It's something those born in the magical world just— don't do. And, somewhere in there, we forget to tell people the reason because it seems so obvious. Most people don't even know the old name. It isn't even an option. Had you used it, Harry, he would have found you, no matter where you hid."

All the times I had almost said Voldemort out loud… but— why hadn't Dumbledore warned me?

Was it really because he believed I wouldn't have been foolish enough to say it? He knew I was raised Muggle.

A strange expression flickered across Amelia's face. "He never told you, did he? Albus."

I flushed defensively. "He must have though I knew better!" I blurted, immediately wondering where that had come from. Hadn't I just had my own doubts? The hell, Harry? What's your issue? I clutched my forehead. The scar was burning. I heard the hissing whispers in my head, reminding me of my nightmares— of Sirius' death.

My fault.

My fault.

My stupid, impulsive, conviction—

"Harry," Amelia said, breaking me out of the downward spiral. "I'd really like our people to take a look at that scar of yours."

"It's not just a scar, is it?" I said, suddenly clear.

The woman's smile was grim. "No, Harry, but I think it's time we all knew what it truly is."

My jaw tightened. "Sure," I said. I paused. "Will it hurt?"

Amelia's expression was serious. "I hope not. It will not be our intention, i can promise you that."

I stared at my hands. "Okay. I've wanted to know why I had it for a long time."

"Probably all your life," she said, her face sympathetic.

I nodded. "Ever since I could look into a mirror."

Something was niggling in the back of my brain. "Amelia, do you know if— is Ginny all right? Ron?"

"Ronald Weasley has been accepted back into Hogwarts," Amelia said. "Ginevra, however, is in protective custody due to her condition. It would not take long before people with ill intent would want to get their hooks into the child of Harry Potter, even if that meant carving the baby out of the womb."

I felt a stone form in my stomach. Stupid Harry. What did you think would happen sticking your pecker into her? That she would be on the potion? So what if she had obviously wanted you— did you even suspect what would happen if she did get pregnant? What that would mean for her? You? The child?

I hadn't been thinking. No, not at all. It had been like I was suffocating and Ginny had been air. I couldn't get enough of her— hell, I hadn't been able to think clearly until—

Oh, Merlin.

Until she was pregnant.

"Amelia, is there—" Oh boy. Good one Harry, now she's staring at you. Her eyebrow raised. I swallowed hard. "Is it possible to be lured into, I mean, can you—" Fuck. Just spit it out, Harry.

She was staring at me intently.

"Is it possible that we were under the influence of something?" I blurted.

"To have— sex?" Amelia replied.

I fidgeted. "Yes."

"There are many things that can drive a person to succumb to the more primitive needs, Harry. The main, however, is often a lack of self control."

Oh, we'd lost control, alright.

"Right, but—" Oh boy, this was worse than talking to the parents of the witch. "Could something have made it worse?"

"This would probably be something better answered by a potions master, Harry."

I shuddered instinctively, and Amelia noticed, shaking her head.

"Harry, as an adult, we often have to work with people we may not like," she said quietly. "But we are often guilty of judging people before truly knowing them. That is far more damaging than just dislike. I think— you of all people, should know what it is like to be judged on hearsay rather than truth."

"But he's such a bloody git!" I blurted, filled with anger. Where had that come from— my head stung. I rubbed my scar over and over.

"Harry, I think it's time we had that scar looked at. Sooner rather than later."

I stared at her and then nodded. Something had to change soon before I offended someone who had every right to take it out on my hide in a non-school environment.

"Yeah," I said aloud. "I think so too."

"Mew!" the blue kitten was on top of my head, peering at me from my askew hair.

Wait, wasn't the kitten purple?

Suddenly a flood of multicoloured kittens pounced me mercilessly, and I went tumbling into the fountain with a splash.

I came out singing Nessun Dorma with the kittens singing the choir.

I dripped as Amelia handed me a towel. "Thanks." I think I said thanks, but it came out in song in a language I didn't know. I hope I didn't just insult her parentage. Even in song, that could get me with a dagger in the back or a bottle of poison ala Shakespeare.

I had enough problems, thanks.

* * *

Unspeakables were scary.

Damn scary.

Scary down to my toes, scary.

Their sibilant hissing speech was creepy. Their uniform was creepier. The truth was, I never heard hissing from snakes. To me, they were speaking to me like I was talking to Ron. Arguably, snakes seemed to have more going on upstairs than Quidditch, food, and Lavender Brown.

I felt like pissing myself in my shame and hypocrisy. I, too, had been obsessed with all things not studying. Having lived under the thumb of the Dursley's for most of my life, having real food, being able to have fun at all— it all seemed like the holy grail of freedom. Don't get me wrong, I loved magic and the magical world, but I picked and chose what I liked the best and clung to it. Flying on a broom felt like a kind of freedom the world had never given me before. It was that same freedom and the craving for it that made taking off on an errand for Dumbledore seem like I was finally paying the world back for rescuing me from Muggle banality.

But as I looked at these Unspeakables— the cream of the magical world, akin to hit wizards to Aurors or even, if I admitted it, student to teachers— I realised I'd been paying a lot of attention to the wrong things, much as any child would, sheltered by school that kept you safe.

Relatively safe.

I mean, how safe could you really be in a world where someone could accidently blow you up, turn you into a goblet or a pachyderm— ferret— or whatever.

Draco being a ferret— okay, I'll admit he deserved that, and I amused myself thinking about it whenever I thought of Draco. Though, after meeting his father up close and murderous, part of me wondered if Draco was a trapped in his life as I had been with the Dursleys. Perhaps, Draco was just another Dudley Dursley— spoiled and raised to believe he was better.

As the metal gauntlets sprawled over my face, I expected it to hurt. I expected to writhe as I did in my nightmares, tortured by things I could not stop.

But that torment never came.

Instead, there was a kind of strange warmth, like the sun brushing against my forehead and the rippling of tadpoles nipping at my toes.

" _Harry. Your mummy and daddy love you."_

I felt tears going down my cheeks, surging forth with a sob of emotion I hadn't realised was there.

" _Mummy loves you."_

" _Daddy loves you."_

" _Harry, be safe."_

" _Be strong."_

I felt the heat of my magic bubbling forth as though it wished to leave my body, and immediately, the warmth of that touch went away. The Unspeakable stepped back, hissing to the other. There was the clinking of the ornate looking crystals that hung in their headdress, their green, glowing eyes flaring from behind the dark blindfold. The other Unspeakable hissed to the other, one hand touching the others in what could have been comfort or reassurance.

They reached out to me instead, those cruel talons stretching across my face. Had Amelia not been there, calm and serene, I would have bolted. The Unspeakable's hand brushed my face as the other's hand gently touched theirs. Whatever they were doing, it seemed to be a team effort.

This time the sensation was less warm, almost more guarded.

" _Idiot boy,"_ I heard clearly in my head. " _You cannot escape me."_

Red eyes in a twisted, monstrous face stared back at me. Slits for a nose—

" _You are mine, boy. There will be nothing left of you but me."_

"No!" I cried, waving my hands in the air frantically. I was throwing wild punches, not caring who I hit. All I could see was the glow of those terrible eyes, coming closer.

 _CLOSER._

 _ **CLOSER!**_

The slither of scales against cold stone.

 _HissssSSSSSss…_

 _ **HISSSSSS!**_

 _Kill._

 _Kill!_

 _ **KILL!**_

I threw myself at the Unspeakables, my mouth parted in a violent hiss. Of course I would kill them for him. Soft mammals. Only the master deserved to be served. Curse this soft, weak, fleshy body! I could sense power. Beautiful, pulsing power.

" _ **Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"**_

I pounced on that writhing, beckoning power. It would be mine. I was snarling, hissing, a tangle of motion as my body moved like a serpent. I would have it. My master would have it. We would have it all!

I bit down with all my strength into the warm, fleshy skin hidden under the wrap of cloth instead of metal. The metallic scent of blood aroused my senses even more. I could feel my master's presence riding in to assist in the kill— he always enjoyed the kills with me. As it should be.

To my great annoyance, the flesh gave way under my bite, and I realised I wasn't getting the reaction I desired. They went limp under me, doing exactly the opposite of what I wanted. I wanted writhing and struggle. I wanted pointless fighting against my coils. I wanted the hapless struggle against inevitable death!

Coldness.

No, what _was_ this?!

A freezing touch was upon my body as my victim stood up straight, shrugging their shoulders to straighten their cloth-covered exterior. The writhing pool of magic was there— so close. SO CLOSE!

I could not move.

I wanted it.

I needed it!

 _ **IT WOULD BE MINE!**_

Damn this accursed body that would not move! Why couldn't I move?! I felt that part of me that was most attuned to my master join with me even closer, giving me power. I felt his eagerness to have that power that was dangling so tantalisingly close to me. I felt the piece of my master that was inside the softmeat host— the warmblood boy. It was stronger now that He was with us.

I tried to get the fleshy meatsack to move. I flowed over his inside, taking over every thought. It was so much better than when he let me do what needed to be done. But this whiny little warmblood— the body would not move. All he did was scream inside his own mind as if deafening me was going to solve anything.

My master encouraged me to break out of the annoying prison and touch that glorious power. He hungered for it as I would hunger for prey. I slammed myself against the insides of the screaming, annoying host, annoyed that there was something familiar about him, like he should be like me. But this one— he was alien. His mind was rooted in weakness. He resisted my master's glorious touch!

Suddenly, there was a flood of heat and power, only it was coming from the inside. At first I thought it was my master, but this— this was different.

It was seething.

Rage.

Disgust.

Indignation.

"GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HEAD!"

What the?

"I'm tired of this curse!"

"I'm tired of you slithering around in my head like a parasite!"

"I'm tired of being used!"

"I'm tired of people thinking they can just tell me what to do and I'll just roll over and accept it!"

"I'm tired of the nightmares!"

"I'm tired of having his piece inside me that wants to hurt people!"

"I'm tired of feeling like it's me that wants everyone to suffer!"

"I'm tired of people either fearing me because my parents stood up to a murder!"

"I'm tired of people trying to be my friend because I'm chosen. Chosen for what? Chosen to suffer the likes of giant snake in my head?!"

"Get out!"

"GET OUT!"

"GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HEAD!"

What? NO! I was being pushed out. How was this possible? How could a weak warmblood softmeat get the upper hand on me!

No!

I was better than it!

I was stronger!

I was—

 _NOOOOOOOOOOO!_

 **Fwwwwommmmmmmm!**

* * *

 _-Severus-_

Potter had a problem.

It was a bit of a hissing problem, seasoned with a smattering of barking mad Dark Lord.

Dark Lord was _never_ a good thing. Ask me how I know.

Now, I wasn't Potter's best judge of character, but I was pretty sure he didn't enter into the conversation trying to take a bite out of Hermione, hissing like a brassed-off serpent, and practically oozing the very familiar and skin-crawling presence of a certain Dark Lord.

Goody.

Part of me wanted to throw in my two cents the moment Potter tried to sink his teeth into my mate, but the other part of me knew she could take it. The only thing I had to watch out for was if she still had a soft spot for Potter and chose to hold back.

I really shouldn't have worried.

Again, I was treating her like she was Potter's good friend and staunch ally, but she was not. She was a trained assassin, bringing a mark in close and then proving why she had taken out so many of the Dark Lord's pets, one after another.

I saw her shadow pin down Potter the moment his teeth sank into her arm. I think he expected her to struggle or scream, and the fact she wasn't and instead relaxed into it, even as the blood began to drip down her arm, was driving the boy mad.

Erm, madd _er_.

Arguably, the Dark Lord was already extra barking mad to begin with, so there wasn't any change there, but Potter, I will reluctantly admit, was guilty of being an abused kid who suddenly had nine months out of the year when he wasn't being starved and treated like a seventh class citizen, just under that of a cockroach, only Petunia and Vernon never actually sprayed him with roach killer, as far as I know. It probably would have killed _THEM_ just handling it, but I digress.

I'd spent enough time as a child of a dysfunctional family, and I knew Petunia from personal experience. The two sides of the same family fence— Petunia and Lily. In the end, I realised the two both had the same genes, not in the literal sense as much as I came to terms with Lily wanted to be as popular as Petunia did. The difference was the crowd in which they wanted to _BE_ popular.

Yet, when looking at Potter— or rather Harry Potter— all I saw was his father's face and his mother's eyes. Two things I had never truly resolved my loathing for. One had a long history of abusive behaviour towards me, the other was marked by one event that sent years of friendship spiraling into Oblivion.

Yet, when I stared at the boy's face, it rapidly changed from scared and confused to hell-bent animalistic fury only to change again into something even more wrathful.

" _ **Get the fuck out of my head!"**_ Potter screamed, only his mouth was open, frozen by the shadow's touch. The exclamation was entirely mental, and something viscous and black began to pour out from his forehead— where the scar was. The skin had broken open, like a blister, and while a black foulness drained from the wound, it writhed and swirled in the air like a living thing, forming into the shape of the Dark Lord as his most treasured serpent, Nagini.

And that was when everything went pear-shaped.

While the shadows were great for living things with shadows, they were not so great for non-corporeal phantoms streaming out of a victim's magical scar.

Oh, but it was much more than a scar.

Horcrux.

The Dark Lord's cockiness about death was suddenly more clear. His dreadful transformation form from the comely and even dashing, smooth-tongued wizard into the red-eyed, serpentine and twisted creature he had become was even more understandable.

There was something familiar about the feel of the Dark Lord, perhaps so many years under his thumb, bearing his Mark. Nagini, however, had a hatred for me that eclipsed all others. She— and I could barely even call her a she, as she was far worse than any bear sow defending her cubs or even the most violently protective animal I could think of. Nagini was murder incarnate with only one respect— to Voldemort.

I wasn't even sure if she recognised me or even cared. Any excuse to murder was a-okay with her. Knowing who I was would have just added one more layer of spite against me. She flung herself at me, the intangible made form. The cloud of manifestation was somewhere between real and not— real enough to feel her strike, fangs sinking into my neck in an attempt to tear it out or poison me, perhaps both at the same time.

I had no time to divert my attention, even though I saw Hermione go down under a cloud of blackened, homicidal Dark Lord. I had to trust she had all the tools to deal with him.

Dumbledore had perfected his monster in her.

She had been all the things I had not, by no fault of mine. Who was to say I had been the only experiment. Regardless of that troubling thought, the answer was in front of me.

Hermione had shed all pretenses of humanity and demonstrated that Nagini and her Lord were not the only monsters in the room.

Black claws, wings, fangs, fur, whiskers, and tentacles burst free from their confinement as the Unspeakables uniform disappeared. For a moment, it was her human shape, soft and naked as the day she was born, but it was a birth of sorts. Hermione's younger face faded into her older self, and that twisted into that of the she-beast as the cloud of Dark Lord attempted to smother her.

Poor Potter. If he was watching, I think he might have pissed himself.

Her tentacles unfurled from her back like an angry nest of eels, fangs bared and slime dripping from their collective maws. Even the tentacle with the festive bling managed to look properly teed-off. Her whiskers, like long, serpents, caressed her face as it pushed out into a cruel, yet so overwhelmingly beautiful and fierce muzzle. Her wings snapped back, the not-so-small wing spurs flexed like dagger-wielding hands as her tail whipped out behind her.

"Hello, Tom," her voice rumbled like a mix of honey and venom. "Welcome to my parlor."

Red eyes and snake-like face twisted in shocked surprise and then anger. "No! No! He could not have succeeded! The power was to be mine! _**MINE!**_ If anyone was to be the perfect vessel, it would be _**ME!"**_

He wrapped his hands around her neck, choking her. I felt the rush of heat off the phantom— the familiar rush of beast trapped under the surface.

I hadn't been the first, after all.

Tom Riddle had been, but he, too, had been a failure.

Unstable.

Dying.

"I found a way to stay alive despite his damnable tampering, and I _**will**_ find a way to rip what is _**mine**_ from your very core!" he hissed, shaking Hermione with all his might, his body both materialising and wrapping around her like a snake and de-materialising as though he was having issues maintaining the immense flow of power that it must have taken to sustain such a feat.

I only vaguely saw what happened next as Nagini's phantom was growing steadily more solid, and my blood was starting to paint the floor and the walls with our struggle together. Yet, even as it happened, I felt my skin knitting as the magic and bond with Hermione wove together my skin as it did my magic. I knew—

She was the key to why I would ultimately survive and why Tom had turned to Horcruxes.

We were failures, doomed to die. Unstable and unusable. So, Albus had cast Tom into the winds, but instead of dying, he had found other ways to keep his lifeforce tethered to this world. And me— I had tied myself to Tom with the Dark Mark, and thus my life had remained mine, for a time.

Albus must have _known_.

The change was upon me, and I saw no reason to fight what I had ultimately become. In joining with Hermione, I had embraced the full potential of what Albus had tried to make me. As my changing hands became talons and wrapped around Nagini's more "solid" neck, I knew the _real_ reason why Albus had sent us out to kill each other. With the two of us out of the running, our magic would have flowed back into him, giving him all of what we were, and it would have been more than enough to deal with Tom Riddle.

No evidence.

No witnesses left.

"No!" I heard the Dark Lord's voice bellow. "I will kill you both. You are inferior! You are mere pale copies! All that you are was because of _**ME!**_ "

Yet, I was calm.

Because _she_ was calm.

Hermione's mind was placid, like the mountain lake, unhampered by the wind or the jumping of fish.

Ironically, both of us were slammed into the ground, being pinned by our phantom un-phantom attackers. Our tentacles snapped into the "air" unable to bite the magical smoke, and were understandably irritated that they should have been able to.

Yet, we were alien to him, and thus Nagini knew no better than her master. Much as Nagini was one with Voldemort, Hermione and I shared a bond that tied us together as one being. The bond was warmth despite what should have been a struggle between life and death. It was oxygen. It was the flow of magic itself. It was the siren song that could lure a man to his death, happily, willingly, with arms open wide, only to me it was the call home.

Even as my hands struggled to crush the form that was becoming more Nagini by the second, she decided she wanted to sink her fangs into me. Perhaps it wasn't venomous because she was manifesting, or maybe whatever she had was pants against what I had become, but as she glared into my face with those unblinking hateful eyes, I felt the corners of my mouth quirk upwards.

Solid enough to hold you.

Solid enough to have a shadow.

Nagini was frozen in place, my shadow having done what any defensive sort of friend would do and gave Nagini a really big hug. The hate in her mind poured through her eyes, which were glowing a distinctive red. Oh, so that's why the Dark Lord was so "sweet" on her.

She was more than just a murderous snake.

She was part of HIM.

A Horcrux.

Horcruxes were magic, and I knew exactly what magic wanted.

My tail was onto me, and it had slithered out from under me and towards my mate. Her tail apparently had the same idea. She was magic, but I was will and fortitude. Together—

Together, we were complete.

The moment our tails corkscrewed around each other, there was a deafening scream inside our heads. Rage, defiance, and fear mixed together as Tom Riddle realised he had been taken by the ultimate honey trap. The honey was magic, but he and Nagini had so kindly touched us both at the same time. I could feel their strength pouring into me, but Hermione—

Hermione was a Dark goddess. Her body was glowing as she rose off the ground, her wings unfolded like the demon of the mountain, shaking off his embrace and attempt to suffocate her. Her tentacles hissed in concert as they moved back and forth like cobras following the movement of the flute.

"Come," Hermione's voice purred like a lover's. "Let me adore you."

Glistening fangs dripped with venom as her eyes filled with the darkness of the midnight sky. Her tentacles struck just as her mouth full of fangs opened wide and clamped around Voldemort's "face." There was a crackling, crunching sound and the psychic scream that everywhere at once.

And then—

The flood of strength seemed without end— it was coming in a raging torrent, and I was high on it. I was powerful beyond all power, and it just kept coming. Vaguely, I was aware of the screams of hundreds of voices, and I realised— it wasn't just Voldemort's strength I was taking.

It was everyone connected to him.

Hermione let out a roaring bay as the flood of magic poured into her. I could feel Voldemort trying to pull power and strength from his minions— every single one— but it wasn't enough. The lake of magic inside Hermione was depthless and infinite, and all magic not specifically bound to us wanted to come home to her.

As strength of will and fortitude came to me.

Nagini's form was becoming more solid, but also cracking under my grip. Pieces of her shed like the breaking of a statue, crushed under my grip.

Hermione's jaws closed, and Voldemort's "head" flung up against the wall, shattering into countless, brittle pieces. There was a surge of Dark Magic as the pull of other, distant anchors fed into him, protecting him from death.

More Horcruxes.

How many did this man make?

But I felt Hermione's smug smile without seeing it. He was doing her work for her. She kept relieving him of his head, one bite and thrash at a time, and each time another would try to form, pulling on the energy and magic of his next Horcrux. Black, oily clouds tried to remake Tom's body so he could attack Hermione, but with each touch of his body against hers, he was giving her more of his magic— his and his stolen magic.

All those with the Mark were being drained of their magic to support their master— just like the Horcruxes. Death Eaters were not just his servants, but they were also his backup plan. He drew power from every single one of them just as they grew stronger with him— only now they were realising what the Mark was _truly_ for.

Insurance.

Yet, as the Dark Lord frantically drained power minions from and his Horcruxes to maintain a physical form in his desperate attempt to seize Hermione's and my power from us as his just reward, something happened.

The hums of countless gargoyles resonated in my head, driving away the screams of the Dark Lord and his minions— not just the ones near us, but all those of the line of Hermione's "family." Every Notre Dame gargoyle lended their voice, their will, their love for their family. Even the pups— perhaps especially the pups— added their voice to the Song. The Song I had never heard so clearly until now.

I saw in my head Hermione's memory of when she had first crash landed into the rookery, surrounded by gargoyle eggs that she had miraculously missed. They hatched in a flurry, as if they sensed her warmth, and they instantly imprinted on her, Marked her, and claimed her as their own.

I felt the purr of every Kneazle kitten—

"A life debt is a life debt," Ollivander's purring voice said in my head.

Ollivander's ancient power flowed into the mix, driving away the suffocating Dark magic that was trying to overwhelm us both in the hopes that feeding Hermione too much would destroy her.

I felt Hermione's smile as she opened the floodgates of her magical lake, and while I knew she was not drowning, she used the link with the gargoyles and the Kneazles and shared the wave of purified magic with all that were connected to her— to _us_.

There was a roar in our minds— no, our very cores.

"Begone," Bastion's voice snarled through the bond, his powerful will guiding his clan's rage and poured it into the link with the Dark Lord.

I could see in my mind's eye, a line of Kneazle kittens, their fur spiked in anger, pouring their own sort of magic into the mix, powered even stronger by the influx of magic Hermione was giving them all.

Suddenly, Potter's anger and rage joined the mix. " _ **THIS IS FOR MY PARENTS, YOU SICK SON OF BITCH!"**_

Tom Riddle's body exploded into a thousand charred pieces— his and Nagini's screams were cut off with a finality that I could _feel_ rather than see.

 _Shhhhplurk._

A bone, the thick goop of a failed potion, and a rat-like human hand lay in the middle of the room.

Potter staggered, his face weary and worn as the weight of this entire childhood— sixteen years of carrying around an interloping Dark Lord in his mind and life. His hand went to his forehead, rubbing it in an instinctive motion, but the skin was now perfectly smooth. His distinctive lightning bolt scar was gone.

Admittedly, I was flat on my back, wings sprawled across the ground like a rug. I could barely think, barely move. My arms and feet were curled up, just the digits twitching as surely as if I'd been rolled by the most intense orgasm of my life. Moving any more than that caused the magic to ripple, and that sent my body into yet another round of ecstatic twitching.

In my mind's eye, I knew I wasn't alone. Hermione had shared the magic with her entire "family"—family that _magic_ recognised over blood. Somewhere, someplace, there were countless gargoyles flat on their stomachs and backs, twitching like we were, positively rolled by the sharing of magic.

If the thrumming purrs in my head were any indicator, the Kneazles were in the same predicament.

I heard Potter thump as he slid down into the chair again. "You know, with all the surprises I've been forced to face lately, you being a Dark Lord-eating monster seems strangely fitting and perfectly understandable." He snorted in amusement. "I have _no_ idea why this amuses me so much."

He rubbed the space between his eyes. "For a moment, I felt them all. Everyone and everything touched by him. Every one of those objects, every one of his people— I could feel him pulling all the energy he could from everything in order to get at you. I could feel his fear of you. His hate, but also his jealousy. He really believed he deserved it _all—_ the power, the magic."

Potter swallowed hard enough that I could hear it.

"I saw it— what Dumbledore did to him. The pain, the experiments, and the promises were all there. His whole life in a few seconds," he said with some difficulty. "He was mad. Completely mad, but he never knew kindness in all his life, and I think—"

Potter's voice was quieter than I'd ever heard it— calm, peaceful, lacking the anger and the self-righteousness for once. "I think I have more respect now for the kindnesses I've been given despite everything that wasn't."

He let out a long sigh.

"I have a lot of thinking to do, but—" He breathed in a ragged breath. "Thank you, for giving me the respite in which to build a life of my own. A real life, free of that monster."

I wanted to tell him that some monsters aren't the obvious kind. Some monsters were far more evil on the inside than out, but I couldn't even form words. My head was full of nipped-out Kneazles and gargoyle pups. I couldn't even groan, my paws were twitching by themselves as magic frolicked through my mind and body.

In that moment, I knew I could forgive Potter for the greatest sin my mind had held onto: being born of the most hated wizard I had known in my childhood years and the childhood friend that could never forgive me for a word said in the heat of the moment.

Potter was his own person.

Harry was his own person. Good or bad. Lazy or not. Brave or not. For once, he was free to become a person of his own making— provided dear old Albus wasn't still guiding the boy with invisible strings.

I felt Hermione's tail tighten around mine, and I realised it could all wait. We'd just vanquished a Dark Lord. Surely they wouldn't begrudge us a little nap?

* * *

 _ **Monster Loose at Hogwarts — Parting Shot from He Who Shall Not Be Named?**_

 _Students were all evacuated safely from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry today shortly after Aurors working with Unspeakables from the Department of Mysteries successfully foiled the possession of a former student by He Who Shall Not Be Named. The student, none other than the Boy-Who-Lived, Mr Harry Potter, was checked into St Mungo's for a thorough look over only for healers to discover that the scar that had so long plagued the young man had inexplicably vanished into thin air._

 _The battle of wills apparently occurred while Mr Potter was surrounded by Unspeakables and Aurors, and while no specific details of the incident were released, the few comments that we were able to glean described the scene as "epic" and "once in a lifetime". The Unspeakables, as to be expected, were not made available for comment._

 _Rumours in Hogwarts have been flying ever since Rita Skeeter published her book, The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore, but the fact remains that there is a monster running rampant in Hogwarts. And, strangely, no one can seem to find the Headmaster. The school's gargoyle was found injured and unable to stand in front of the passageway leading to none other than the Headmaster's office._

 _Some have speculated that Albus Dumbledore IS, in fact, the monster, but what no one seems to be able to figure out is how or why— or even when. The timing was disturbingly synchronous with the possession attempt on Harry Potter. Rumours have also speculated if Harry's disappearance during this term at Hogwarts was due to his suspicion that Albus Dumbledore was up to no good, but others believe that it was Dumbledore himself that sent Harry, his best mate, and his best mate's sister out into the wilds._

 _But why?_

 _No one knows._

 _The wizard's long-time familiar, the phoenix known as Fawkes, seems to have evacuated Hogwarts as well._

 _Teams are being sent to Hogwarts to investigate and remove any threat to the staff and students. Classes are temporarily being held at the Ministry, taking over the war propaganda offices that were formerly headed by Dolores Umbridge. The level, which had always been blocked off from the public and even those that worked at the Ministry, was found to have ample space for classrooms and makeshift dorms for the children and quarters for the teaching staff._

 _After Umbridge's attempt to break into the Ministry with nothing but a wand that she could apparently no longer command, she was taken to St Mungo's for treatment where healers were stunned to find she had somehow lost her magic and become a squib. Her final act as Undersecretary was to renounce all of the acts that had so clearly been biased against Muggles, squibs, magical creatures, and half-bloods— and promptly demanded to be sent to Mungo's to fix her condition._

 _While a return to Hogwarts is not yet possible, school is, at least, still on._

 _We shall post updates as we get them, dear readers. Stay with The Daily Prophet, your choice for the best news in the Wizarding World._

* * *

 _ **More Squibs Today Than Yesterday**_

 _St Mungos is filled to the rim with squibs._

 _As of this morning, the floos of St Mungo's have been flooded with frantic witches and wizards who seem to have lost all of their magic. The waiting rooms are full. The psychiatric ward is full. The healers are beating back the hordes of people demanding treatment while trying to treat those who are sick and dying of more immediate concerns!_

 _So far, twenty brawls have broken out, where magicless people from countless families demand treatment over those who were injured in the last wave of attacks by Death Eaters shortly before the onslaught of magicless-once-magical people. Even more disturbing, many of these new squibs are from prominent pureblood families such as the Malfoys, Parkinsons, Notts, Rosier, Bulstrode, Greengrass, Carrow, Rowle, and many others.._

 _While many cases had members of these families brandishing their wands and threatening healers, it didn't take long for hospital staff to realise that while they still had their wands, nothing could possibly come of the threats, at least from a magical viewpoint._

 _Thrown objects and punches, however, were another matter entirely._

 _The physical altercations led to another matter of grave importance: each of these magicless victims bore the faded but unmistakeable Dark Mark worn by the fearsome followers of He Who Shall Not Be Named._

 _Chaos and pandemonium resulted in hospital staff summoning a swarm of Aurors St Mungo's to deal with the problem. The DMLE was forced to resort to borrowing additional Aurors from other Ministries due to the sheer number of combatants in need of subduing. Countries such as France, Bulgaria, the Netherlands, Switzerland, Italy, Ireland, Poland, Spain, Portugal, Romania, Germany, and all the way up to Estonia down to Greece have sent Aurors to help Magical Britain cope with the explosion of violence in and around St Mungo's._

" _We're used to people pointing wands at us and trying to kill us," Auror Stonebridge said, "but these people are barking mad. They are throwing forks at us, trying to injure the other patients, throttling healers. They even tried to stab Healer Jenkins with a wand. A WAND! We need all the hands we can get to make sure no one else is hurt!"_

" _Dit is krankzinnig" exclaimed Dutch Auror Belder. "Wie valt er nou andere mensen aan met hun toverstaf. Notabene hun toverstaf, doe normaal?"_

" _I'm with Auror Belder," Auror Fitzgibbons said. "This is insane, and people attacking each other with their wands— physically, we mean— is just bloody mental! Who does that? Literally smacking someone with their wand?"_

 _People are highly encouraged to seek out smaller clinics for medical assistance during this time, as St Mungo's seems to be the hardest hit with unmagical magical people gone mad._

* * *

"That—" Harry said as he frowned at the striking blond baby with icy baby blue eyes, "is not my child."

"Harry Potter you will take responsibility for—" Molly began, already ready to brandish her voice as a weapon, but then she stopped completely, her thoughts crashing like the Hogwarts Express off its tracks. "Wha— Ginevra Molly Weasley, are you telling me all this time you were swearing up and down that Harry got you pregnant that it was actually Draco Malfoy!?"

Fred, George, Charlie, Bill, Percy, and Arthur stared down at the distinctively platinum mop of fuzz on the baby's head.

Ron's face turned completely purple. "My sister shagged MALFOY?! What the hell, sis? You told me you wanted Ha—"

"WHAT?!" Molly screeched.

Harry took a few good steps back from the forming Hurricane Molly, and found himself standing by a human-looking Hermione with a gargoyle pup clinging to one shoulder and a Kneazle kit on the other.

"Oops," the gargoyle pup said, flapping his wings.

"Me-ew!" the kitten agreed, taking a moment to groom her cinnamon-coloured fur.

"Well, that sorts out paternity like a slap to the face," I said as my bonnie daughter leaned into my shoulder with a bump.

"You are enjoying this," Hermione said, winking at me.

"Me?" I answered.

Hermione arched a brow. "I think you breathe drama, Alastor. It's your thing."

"To you, magic, to Severus, fortitude, to me, drama," I replied. "We all have our things.

"I prefer tea," Minerva said from behind me, sipping her tea.

"It's probably good this happened this way," I said to Harry. "Had she tried to marry you in a ceremony having successfully been impregnated by Draco Malfoy, the magical fireworks would have been— fan-tastic." I exaggerated the last word with a sly smile.

"Well, the Malfoys have problems of their own now," Minerva said. "Lucius, well, we all knew he was in line to fawn over the Dark Lord's ideals, but Draco— it's a pity he got himself Marked and tied to the Dark Lord's madness and ultimately drained of magic. He was a misguided boy, but I had hoped he could pull away from his father's business."

Severus sniffed, his robes moving like the wings of his bestial form. "There was a time when Lucius was more honourable than fanatical. The person I knew as friend in school changed into something I no longer recognised. And Draco— he stopped looking to me for advice and answers the moment he hit puberty."

"The Wizengamot seems to think that the ultimate sentence has already been bestowed," I said. "I can't blame them really. The very idea of being stripped of all your magic is a sentence that most would dare not even contemplate— save for the likes of Umbridge, who wanted to do it to anyone she considered to be undeserving of magic."

To their credit, not that I doubted their skill, no one else was sporting tentacles and wings, whiskers, or tails, and Potter— was surprisingly able to keep a secret that most people would have taken straight to the loony bin. He really had grown and matured after his trip across the whole of Britain. He was also showing interest in becoming an Auror for all the right reasons: he knew what was out there and the reason why he had to be on top of his game.

Constant vigilance.

If Hermione believed he could be a good apprentice, then maybe I could give him a good shake. Hermione knew exactly what I would put him through, after all. She'd gone through it herself.

And, now that the world wasn't ending under the subjugation of the Dark Lord, Potter wasn't emotionally compromised by possession, and he was not the father of Ms Weasley's baby, life would be less complex for him. He could focus on becoming the best of his potential instead of trying to hold together a family.

The big question, however, was why did Ms Weasley let him believe the baby was his? She seemed honestly surprised that it wasn't. What was _really_ going on?

"Nononono!" Ginny screeched. "There's no way! I only did it _**once!**_ "

" _ **WHAT?!"**_ Molly exclaimed. "While you were with Harry?"

"It was just one night!" Ginny protested. "I asked Ron to tell Harry where to meet me, but he took longer than—"

"So you threw yourself at a _**MALFOY?!"**_

Oh boy. I think Potter had the right idea about staying out of that whirlwind of horror going on in the next room. Even the Healers, having checked the health of the baby and the mum, discreetly vanished into thin air like wisps of smoke.

I could hear them "conversing" through the walls, two "rooms" over. Arthur shuffled out of the room looking more than a little confused as to how to take it all.

"I'm truly sorry, Harry," he said after a while. "It's long been tradition to do paternity testing upon conception, but I never even thought to bring such pureblood nonsense into my own family. We had no great tracts of property or fortune that we had to protect. We've never been a wealthy family, so when Ron said our Ginny was pregnant—"

Harry let out a sigh. "It's okay, sir. I believed it too. I mean, we had— you know, so it was logical. I figured the contraceptive potion didn't work. Chance for failure, you know. Ginny told me it was Weasley genetics. I had no idea she was—"

He looked mighty uncomfortable. I couldn't blame him.

"... sleeping around, sir." Harry turned to look out the window into the garden.

We had moved Ms Weasley to one of our above ground safe compounds once she had decided she couldn't handle having a baby on her own without additional support. The drama with finding out their daughter was pregnant was bad enough. Ginevra was still holding back the fact that she had aged an additional year. That cauldron was going to explode eventually— hopefully not while I was there. Give me Dark Wizards any day to family drama.

Arthur put a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Harry, despite all of Molly's going on, we would have been proud having you as a son-in-law. I'm sorry this has all ended sideways."

"I'm going to _**MURDER**_ that bloody blond, slimy Slytherin git!" the youngest male Weasley blurted.

There was a sharp sound of Disapparation with Aurors Fiddlestein and Addlebury Disapparating immediately after. There's a lesson in that for the kiddies. If you are going to make a death threat, don't do it in a room with attending Aurors who have fully functional ears. So much for Ronald Weasley's permission to leave the temporary dorms to see his sister. That was going to be revoked forthwith.

Severus was rubbing the space between his eyes, and we all knew what he was thinking of that particular Weasley without necessitating any words to fill in the blanks.

He probably wasn't wrong, either.

* * *

 _ **Ronald Weasley Attacks Draco Malfoy in Hyde Park, London.**_

 _ **Squibbed Malfoy Heir in Critical Condition in Muggle Hospital**_

 _The youngest male Weasley, Ronald Bilius Weasley, after learning his younger sister was pregnant with none other than Draco Malfoy's child, Apparated within plain sight of over a hundred Muggles in busy downtown London and attacked Mr Malfoy._

 _Mr Malfoy, who had taken up his life in penance for his being branded by the Dark Lord, threw himself in front of a group of Muggle children when Mr Weasley accused him of training the next batch of "baby Death Eaters." Unlike the other Death Eaters that were uncovered in the mass-Squibbing of magical Britain, Draco Malfoy was one of the few who were collateral damage, having never actually been found guilty of causing harm to another witch or wizard using Dark magic._

 _Others such as the young Mr Crabbe and Mr Goyle, have been charged with multiple accounts of torture and Dark Magic use, all revealed after their attempt to cast the spells unsuccessfully after being Squibbed. While others like them were sent to various Muggle asylums for the criminally insane to serve out their sentences in lieu of Azkaban, those like Mr Draco Malfoy were released with the idea that having permanently lost their ability to use magic being a punishment in itself._

 _The children that Draco Malfoy protected were a group of orphans— victims of Death Eaters terrorising Muggle families. While Mr Malfoy was unavailable for comment, witnesses to the fight claimed that Mr Weasley "started waving around some kind of laser stick and hit the other bloke in the chest" shortly before Obliviation teams arrived to clean up the witness pool for the protection of everyone._

 _Mr Malfoy is said to be recovering slowly at an undisclosed location. Mr Weasley is currently being held by Aurors as the details of his attack on Mr Malfoy are sorted out and he is presented for a hearing in front of the Wizengamot._

* * *

"Quite a mess you've managed to get yourself into, Draco," I said, peering through my curtain of hair. It was a habit I'd never lost despite everything.

"Severus," Draco said my name with a tremor. "Have I died? Are the kids okay?" That's right. He had thought I was dead. I guess seeing a supposedly dead man standing before you is as good reason as any to think you've died.

"Thanks to you," I said. "What you did was very brave."

"Thanks."

"And utterly stupid for a person who had no magic to shield himself with."

"Yeah, that," Draco said with a frown.

"However, not having magic may have saved your life," I said. "The spell Weasley used on you was intended to use your magic against you. Instead, it just tried to tear you apart looking for it."

Draco frowned. "That's hardly better."

"You're alive, aren't you?"

He looked at me. "I'll give you that. You seem— very undead. I mean… not dead." He peered at me, confused. "Dumbledore said you were missing, but I think everyone took that for being dead. Even father—"

I sighed. Despite all of Lucius' horrible acts, he had loved his family. It was, perhaps, the same love of his family that drove him to do the horrible things he did in an attempt to preserve the way of life as he knew it. It was, perhaps, much like the civil war of the Americas, the North vs the South. Only Voldemort— Tom Riddle— had been like Germany's Hitler. Highly charismatic and inspiring to the masses of people. Many, too, believed he wanted the best for his country, and perhaps he did. Perhaps, they both did— but the problem is that when one person believes they know what's best for everyone. Albus believed he knew too. Eventually, people would figure out that the beast rampaging around Hogwarts was Albus, and they would, quite possibly, connect him to Riddle's demise and the ultimate Squibification of the masses.

I had a feeling those like Amelia would be sure to spin in that way for the protection of Hermione and myself. I didn't mind.

Amelia was like a mother velociraptor, ever-protective of her clutch and her "babies" whether human, beast, Kneazle, gargoyle, or whatever the heck we were. Check that… mother velociraptor stuck in a T-Rex body. Kind of like how the little dogs would be lethal in a bigger dog's body? That would be our boss. She'd mother us to death, but if anyone tried to harm us— well, I was just glad she was on our side.

"Your father loved you, Draco," I said. "His actions may not have been very telling in that department, but he genuinely wanted the best for you."

"He was lousy at showing it," Draco said.

"At least he _did_ care, unlike my own father," I said quietly. "I don't think he liked anyone, let alone love."

Draco nodded, suddenly realising that I'd never really talked about my family before this. "You know, I really cared for Weaselette. When she dragged me off, my mind was full of how I would break it to father… I planned my entire future— and then she disappeared, and then I heard Weaselbee saying how his best mate knocked up his little sis. I'd kinda written her off."

"Advice?" I said.

"Please," Draco said. "I know I've given you grief over it but, please— I really do need advice."

"Even if you don't trust Ms Weasley completely, don't take it out on the child. All the child wants is the love of their parents, and not getting that could result in the next Tom Riddle—" I closed my eyes. "Or the next me."

Draco swallowed hard. "I don't know if father will survive as a Muggle. When he came back from Azkaban, he was a broken man, not like I remember, and then I realised what I remembered was a man who thought nothing of harming children that were not family or one of the other pureblood families. Yet, I never wanted for food or a home—"

"Just not affection," I replied. "Compassion."

Draco took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Is it selfish of me to have wanted both?"

"Ideal, perhaps, but not selfish, Draco," I said. "I technically had a roof over my head but lacked in other areas."

"I didn't mean it," Draco blurted.

"Hrn?" _That was random, Draco. Care to elaborate?_

"I called you a coward. I said I would never trust you. I—" Draco's face twisted in some sort of emotional torment. "I was afraid. Stupid. I should have listened, and now look at me."

"We all have our stupid things we do, Draco." I sighed. "You know what I think?"

Draco stared at me.

"Mew!" A cinnamon-coloured Kneazle kitten poked her head out from my pocket.

"I think you just need a good friend to keep you in line, not the likes of Crabbe and Goyle, who were obviously not chosen for their mental capacity." I frowned.

Thea, adventuress extraordinaire, stormed up Draco's leg up his chest and bonked him on the face with her paws. "Mew!"

"I think she's decided you're a fixer-upper case in need of Kneazle TLC.

"She's—" Draco gaped, doing a marvelous fish impression. "A real Kneazle?"

"I don't know many fake ones," I replied. Truth was, ever since the intense magical fusion we had drinking in all of the magic the Dark Lord threw at us, all those little mews translated quite well into the Queen's English. They were almost as precocious as the gargoyle pups. Almost. Kneazles, however, were more solitary, one-on-one project managers, however, and Thea had been evaluating Draco for redemption possibilities since we had arrived.

Bop!

Thea smacked Draco upside the nose. "Mew."

Draco's eyes widened and he gingerly pet the little queen of his face, getting a warm purr in return.

"I don't think I have to dress you down and give you the lecture about taking care of her or I will break your face, hrm?"

Draco shook his head. "Never."

"Good, I do hate such things," I replied with a sniff. "So, what are you going to do now that you have a child? Have you even seen your little girl?"

Draco's eyes widened. "No, by the time I heard about it and that it was not Potter's— I, well, I ended up here."

"I'd recommend staying away from magical duels," I said.

"I can't even summon an owl. I'd be a worthless fath—"

"No," I said sternly. "You are as good of a father as you let yourself be. That you make yourself to be, and magic is not what makes you a better person. You can be great or horrible without magic to prove it."

Draco looked sheepish, but I knew somewhere inside there he knew what I meant. He had a brain under that skull cage; he just had to apply himself better. Much like Potter, his chosen peers had molded his idea of self worth as much as his warped parental upbringing. But if Potter could pull off what he did in the end, than Draco too deserved that chance.

Hermione had told me that, ironically. Even after all she'd been through, holding back her true power while Draco made fun of her, tormented her, and made her life hell— Hermione said it would have hardly been fair if she'd torn him to pieces and left him a drooling, magicless mess because he called her a Mudblood. Hermione Granger the know-it-all swot had probably not existed since the very first year, and I and so many others, had never been more the wiser for it.

My fingers brushed a small vial that one of my tentacles had grasped in its mouth. It jingled in my ear surprisingly surreptitiously and then bit me after I took it. Wow, way to be bipolar there, Festive. Yes, that particular tentacle had a name. It dove back under my collar and disappeared, leaving me with the vial and sore ear. I was going to have to ask Hermione how she had such a wonderful relationship with her tentacles and mine just abused me as they felt like it.

Ow!

Apparently, Festive heard my thoughts and bit me again, punctuating with another merry jingle. I scowled.

Draco's eyes widened, probably thinking I was scowling at him.

I waved him off. "It's not you."

It's not you; it's me. Quite a few writhing, quirky, parts of me. It was bad enough our shadows had gone out on a date without us. Hermione said it was better than having my shadow scaring the fear of Merlin out of Draco. I had asked her if shadow-dating involved cuddling with her as she took a nap with a pile of Gargoyle pups and Kneazle kittens, and she had just smiled at me.

So not fair.

Hermione was apparently on a time share with herself.

I sighed. Considering what she was willing to do, however, I couldn't begrudge her quirks. I eyed the swirling vial of "potion" in my hand.

Magic swirled within: Draco's magic, purified down to the last magical joule. Hermione said, even if magic was willing to give Draco another chance, it had to judge him worthy. She had nothing to do with it. She had, however, sweet talked it into giving him a chance, but it had to decide on how permanent the arrangement was going to be. Ideally, magic wanted to return to her. She was the siren and magic was the sailors of Ulysses, but perhaps it was saying something powerful that she was not only willing but managed to convince it to give Draco another shake on her behalf.

I extended the "potion" to Draco. "You may not realise this, Draco, but there are those who are far more sympathetic to your situation that you might think."

Draco stared at the vial uncomprehendingly. He had no idea, and really how could he? If I didn't know what it was, I wouldn't have believed it myself.

"You may not know this, Draco, but the earliest manuscripts used to warn magical folk that if they were not good to magic, magic would leave them. Somehow, this warped into the belief that if you unmagical, you were being punished, and then later, the ruling class twisted it further, creating the pureblood lines that never once lost their magic. The Sacred Twenty-Eight. Of course, you know how warped the opinions are of those families, hrm?"

Draco nodded grimly. "Entitlement."

"I speculate that the reason pureblood families were so and perhaps are so fearful of Muggles is because of the stigma. Muggles remind them that their magic could possible leave them— the greatest shame one born of magic could possibly endure. And then, there is the greater shame that ones that were Muggleborn could rise from the ashes of their fallen ancestors and surpass them."

"It makes sense, don't you think? That if magic can leave because you are undeserving that it would, perhaps, come back if you were deserving?"

"I don't deserve it," Draco said, his eyes like molten steel. "Do you know what I did for the Dark Lord? It doesn't matter that I wanted to save my family. I cursed Katie Bell. I Imperiused Rosmerta. I was trying to kill Dumbledore! I— I don't _deserve_ magic."

I raised my eyebrows. Draco had grown up quite a bit.

"And what of your daughter? Does she not deserve a father and mother to teach her the ways of the world? To not make the mistakes of her parents?" I wondered if Draco truly believed his punishment was just. Admittedly, he had done some pretty horrible things, and a child endowed with magic can do many more appalling things than a Muggle child even without being born a psychopath.

"Does Ms Weas—" I stopped. If he and she had consummated _and_ had a child, legally of age (which only made it harder), the chances that she wasn't already Lady Ginevra Molly Malfoy were slim to none.

 _Wait_.

What if Albus—

Why you sneaky old bastard. Albus Dumbledore had known that Ginevra and Draco were secretly lusting after each other. He knew if they consummated that all attempts to trace 'Ginevra Molly Weasley' would be fruitless.

Because she was _actually_ Ginevra Molly Malfoy.

It was ruthlessly practical and probably saved her life while out on the run— her life and the life of Harry Potter. It was horrible, manipulative, and yet brilliant. He had, despite it all, probably saved their lives.

But what of Ronald Weasley? What had protected _him_?

I frowned. Perhaps, Ronald Weasley, in his banal likes and predictable behaviour was just that: predictable. The only thing that had torn the youngest male Weasley from Potter's side had been the overwhelming emotion that told him he had to take his sister home that very minute because she was pregnant.

Rubbish, really. How many generations of pregnant witches had there been? None of them spontaneously combusted. Ideally, yes, being taken care of was better, but— Then again, perhaps it was more about endangering the unborn heirs than the witch, specifically. Ginevra Weasley was known for her bat-bogey hexes, after all, and those were the "minor" spells of note.

I shook my head. I digress. I could have attempted to understand Dumbledore's machinations all day long, and I'd only be guessing most of the time. The man purposely made himself as obscure as possible. His desires, his wants— they all came back to him, but he hoarded over them like a nesting dragon during the Tri-Wizard Tournament.

Dumbledore would have to wait until this situation with Draco was fully resolved. The world needed fewer half-parented and orphaned babies, and Draco was perfectly capable of turning himself into someone better versus someone who stubbornly remained stuck in the mud up to their waist.

I handed Draco the vial. "Redemption is not only brooding and self-flagellation. Take it from someone who knows. Redemption starts when you stop looking behind you and start looking forward."

"What _is_ this?" He looked at the vial somewhat suspiciously, yet he couldn't help but pet the crystal vial with a look of wistful longing in his eyes.

"A gift," I said. A curl of mischief tugged at my lips as my tentacles hissed quiety to themselves under my robes, "from my wife."

Draco hit the floor, his face as pale as milk, the vial flying out of his hands and crashing to the floor. The stopper popped, and the magic slithered out, ferret shaped, bouncing playfully around Draco's head like a wreath of birds in a Muggle cartoon. The magic rubbed up against him and then shot straight up his patrician nose.

Draco shot up like his arse was on fire, coughing hoarsely and all but hacking up his lungs. He sneezed sharply and his head turned into a ferret's. He sneezed again, and the rest of him followed suit.

A blond, frazzled, baffled-looking ferret stared up pitifully at me from the floor.

Festive poked me with Draco's wand, sliding it into my hand right before he, it— whatever— bit me again. Damn that bloody tentacle!

I placed Draco's wand in front of his ferret body.

"Your first assignment is to figure out how to un-ferret yourself, Draco," I said with a weary sigh. "Your second—" I held out my hand to silence him as I knew he was thinking something very loudly. "Your second assignment is to get your de-furred arse over to St Mungo's and meet your daughter. I would bring a Roman shield, highly polished, some disgustingly cute plush creatures for your daughter and a basket of Muggle sweets and things that Molly Weasley would never make herself."

I plunked down a bag of coins in a velvet bag with a shiny green cord. "This is so you can." There was enough quid in that bag to buy himself a sizeable amount of plush everythings and half a grocery as well as get himself some respectable clothes so he could be comfortably in between magical and Muggle. "I'd recommend a sizeable amount of fine chocolate to placate the feminine aspect of your trial. Hopefully the obnoxiously adorable plushies will at least cushion you from physical harm."

I stood up, fully confident that his condition would wear off after he stopped freaking out.

Thea, the cinnamon-coloured Kneazle kit, seemed to realise this was her time to shine and she bopped Draco squarely on the nose with her paw.

Fwwop!

Draco was sitting on the floor with his wand clenched between his teeth and the coin purse on his head.

Well, I suppose that works too.

"Mew," Thea agreed, radiating smugness.

Felines. They were all going to rule the world.

* * *

 _ **Rubeus Hagrid Named Game Warden for Azkaban**_

 _Azkaban has a very unique new tenant after Aurors took an entire week to finally extricate the monster from Hogwarts Castle. Rumours have not stopped flying at the Ministry, as worried citizens repeatedly demanded to know the identity of the monstrous beast, but all attempts to interview or get photos of the beast have been met with failure. One picture, supposedly legitimate, turned out to be none other than Mr Hagrid's pet boarhound, Fang._

 _The care of the creature seems to have fallen into Mr Hagrid's hands, forcing him to take on the job as game warden of Azkaban, leaving Hogwarts to Professor Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank. The Beast of Hogwarts, according to Mr Hagrid, "... is just misunderstood, is all. Give him a lemon sherbet and he purrs like a kitten. See?"_

 _Regardless of this, the beast has been deemed far too dangerous to keep near students or typical magical folk, let alone Muggles, so a special holding area has been added to Azkaban to contain the beast. For whatever reason, the creature does not seem to like salt water, so the location is, if anything, ideal._

 _Many rumours have the beast as a strangely transformed Albus Dumbledore, while others insist that the beast_ _ **ate**_ _Mr Dumbledore and assimilated some of his preferences, such as the fondness for lemon sherbets. Whatever happened, the beast isn't talking, and this paper can't even get an appointment to see the real creature up close._

 _As for who's going to run Hogwarts after the disappearance of a number of staff members, including Deputy Headmistress McGonagall, Madam Pomfrey, Severus Snape, and the unsolved mystery of the disappearance of a Muggleborn student, Hermione Jean Granger, the Headmaster position has fallen to Professor Filius Flitwick and his new Deputy Headmistress, Pomona Sprout. The search is on for replacement professors for Potions, Transfiguration, Defence Against the Dark Arts, and Head Mediwitch for the school infirmary. Rumours claim that Headmaster Flitwick is looking to bring in new professors who have just completed their apprenticeships in brother and sister magical schools._

 _The investigation into the rumours swirling around Albus Dumbledore, however, seems to be just as mysterious as the beast the Aurors were forced to remove._

 _Headmaster Flitwick is confident that class terms will resume anew come autumn, and Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry will demonstrate, once again, that it is the finest magical school in the world._

 _I believe that everyone can join us in wishing Hogwarts staff and students the very best. I think everyone is breathing a heavy sigh of relief that hiring new staff for Hogwarts is better than what many believed would be the end of the Wizarding War._

* * *

- **Poppy** -

"Ooo! You shadows! Get out of my cupboard, you naughty things!" Minerva scolded as two rather enamoured shadows bolted from the cupboard and fled to places unknown.

"Ooooo!" the gargoyle pups said together.

"Issues?" I said, chuckling.

"Those shadows are like snogging teenagers. Apt to show up in whatever place they think they are safe only to have me stumble on them!"

Minerva was scowling on her face, but her eyes were twinkling with amusement. We both knew she found it more than a little amusing that Hermione and Severus' shadows got more free time together than most. The couple were often out doing dangerous tasks akin to that of Hit Wizards— the sort of thing that required the both of them.

They kept themselves well guarded, but ever so often, some sort of undefined something or other would tear a wing or bruise a tentacle that normal magic didn't heal too well, and they would come to me for salve, some chiding, and a bandage. Ever seen tentacles in a bandage? It was amusing.

Not much broke through their nigh impervious skin, so when it did, it was usually a scary sort of debriefing. Amelia took it quite seriously, as she should, as if it could hurt those two, it could hurt others much easier.

Minerva and I had taken up positions as teachers for the Unspeakables' children. They had families, too, and it was answering an age old question about the lives of Unspeakables and if they had lives.

Amelia was head over heels happy, as the gargoyle pups had taken to the children, and they were teaming up in classes, learning about each other and learning about magic together. Unlike most children, classes didn't start when they hit Hogwarts. Schooling started the moment you were able to crawl, and like the old-school ways, many of them were apprenticed before they were the age for Hogwarts

Kids were kids, but the society here, in this community of secrecy, seemed far more concerned with the preservation of their way of life. They knew that they had a good thing, and they wanted to keep it secret and safe. Not many young folk had that sort of wherewithal outside of here. Keeping a secret at Hogwarts was nonexistent for most.

The difference in this place was, even if you were apprenticed, you still have group classes with the other students to promote teamwork and actual team building, unlike the mess that was the Hogwarts Houses that promoted sabotage and getting the better hand over that person you might have to depend on later. We saw how well that worked out.

Oh, it wasn't all bad, or it wouldn't have been had we not been in the middle of a war, but there were things that could have been better. All schools have things they begged improvement. Ours just had wands and cranky magical elements.

Fwwop!

A heavy weight landed on my shoulders as the dark blue gargoyle pup hugged my head. "Bonjour, Madame Pomfrey!"

"Hello, love," I greeted, giving the pup scratches behind the ear.

He flapped his wings in a clap, appreciative of the attention. He rubbed up against me like a cat, crooning, making sure I was properly marked with about fifty-odd shared scents— and those were only the ones I could smell.. There was no hiding yourself from a gargoyle. They were just attuned to knowing every little part of their home, and their home was vast. They knew each person, familiar, beast, and everything in between. Every gargoyle did a little ritual when they saw you, bounding up to rub against you in some way and reinforce the "knowing" of who you were and where you fit in their collective awareness.

Mind you— ever since that one night when the Dark Lord had met his end, those of us that were tied to Hermione and Severus in a way that went beyond acquaintances, colleagues, and tolerated busy bodies, shared in a little of that magic that bound us all together as "clan" to the gargoyles and the Kneazle family. She hadn't had to, Hermione that is, share any of it, but she had. She purified all that was the Dark Lord's magic and seemingly cut it into equal sized portions, giving everyone she was bound to a share of the pie. Because we were tied to her, either by our relationship to her or a relation to Severus, the magic was content to enter a symbiosis with us. I had no doubt that if Hermione truly needed the magic, it would come back to her in a flood, but with the size of her support group now— the chances of her being harmed were exceedingly small.

The amount of sheer power it would take to harm her now was even more frightening. This same power, if harnessed in someone with more drive to use it for less scrupulous means— what were the chances that the one it DID go to refused to be cowed, corrupted, or controlled by it. Now that my memories had returned, I knew that Tom Riddle had been Albus' original choice, but it had destroyed the boy's mind rather than change his body. Severus had been the _second_ choice— again, a failure to what Albus wanted: a perfect vessel for his eventual power. It was a power he had fully intended to take from Hermione, until he realised he could use Severus and Hermione against each other and take both of their power reserves at the moment of their death.

Only something went wrong.

Hermione and Severus hadn't killed each other, and their magic stabilised and fused instead of devouring each other, and Albus—

Albus got a really _big_ dose of…

I wasn't even sure if karma covered it. Karma that took classes in elite mojo arse-kickery?

Bamf licked my temple. "Shouldn't mess with magic, or magic messes back," he quoted, having apparently paid attention to the afternoon lessons thoroughly. "And who was teaching you that, sweetling?" I asked the pup.

"Professor Tabby," Bamf replied, wings flapping with amusement.

"Minerva, did you know they are calling you Professor Tabby?"

Minerva grinned at me like the impudent cat that she was. I'd known the witch longer than most, and I was proud to have called her friend for most of them. The rest, I'd called that damnable tabby that knocked over bottles on my infirmary shelf when she'd succumbed to the undue influence of a catnip mouse.

Minerva passed me tea and I smiled at her in thanks. Bamf _mmmmmmm_ -ed at me hopefully, and I shared my tea with the pup. Gargoyles like tea. Who knew?

The warm pup wriggled against me in thanks for the tea and then disappeared with a fwoosh.

"We've lived in Hogwarts for how many years, Minerva? Yet here, I feel we are learning anew what makes the magical world _magical_ ," I said with a chuckle.

Minerva grinned. "I love it. It puts a sort of spring in my step to know that tomorrow has something new in it for me. I feel— safe here, Poppy. I haven't had the dreams since moving here. The outside world may think me missing in action, but I have never felt so alive."

I had to nod. She was right. This place did feel safe and supportive. There was some irony in that, I had to admit. Hogwarts was reputed to be safest place in all of Britain, yet so much danger had come from within long before it had come from outside.

Tom Riddle had been created in Hogwarts— the boy would become the Dark Lord Voldemort. He'd been warped and broken after already being twisted by the circumstances of his own birth and time in an orphanage. There were quite a few avid discussion panels about it on Tuesdays over tea and crumpets, and Hermione usually brought her special gargoyle and Kneazle-shaped shortbread biscuits that had combined the much-loved secret recipe from Alastor's mam and a little magical mischief.

Bastion had found it amusing that he recognised some of the gargoyles that had been unwitting models for the biscuits. I had to admit, it was quite striking.

Rumour had it that Severus was the only one that knew the recipe outside of Moody's direct family, but Alastor had been smug. "He's my son-in-law. He's family."

How things had changed. Seeing Alastor's newfound or rather refound happiness made the irony of how he and Severus had been at each other's throats on more than one occasion.

That was then, as they say. This is now.

I was quite partial to now, truth be told.

"Ach," Minerva tutted. "You know they are going through all of Albus' things. He never wrote anything down, but he kept a great many vials of memories. I don't know if he hid it from himself or kept them so he'd never forget. I'm glad we're here, Poppy. I feel like going back to Hogwarts would just be asking for some latent spell to trigger and I'd forget everything again.

She had a point. We talked about what it would be like to go back to Hogwarts, but it was never serious. This place— even without us being thought missing in action— made us feel a part of something greater than ourselves, something worthwhile.

Patching up these wondrous people who put themselves on the line without ever getting public recognition? Taking care of their little one's boo-boos and being more involved in the lives of families? For a healer, it was a good job. Minerva, on the other hand, was determined that nothing could hold her back, and she would be cowed by no one. Somehow that wonderfully independent and assertive witch had become more sombre and resigned over the years, but now she was back.

And no one was complaining.

"It wasn't just us who trusted him, Minerva," I said to her. "We were not the only victims of Albus' deception. And— we can't even say we never caught on, because we did— for all the good it did us."

"I hear you're working with Severus on creating a potion to help heal the effects of chronic Obliviation," she said, offering up a biscuit.

I nodded. "We're not the only ones, I fear, that will need the balm to heal the mind, but there is some hope that this potion may heal other types of damage inflicted on the mind including the phantom pain experienced by victims of Cruciatus."

"There is an entire ward at St Mungo's that will be ready to promote you to sainthood for such a thing, I believe," Minerva said.

"Well, they'd have to know it was me as well as the wonderful people here, and that is quite unlikely," I said, "but I'd like to think that there _is_ hope for them.".

There were those I knew well— cases of extreme torture— where minds were broken beyond any sanity— magical pathways in the brain permanently severed from their normal routes or bound into other places it did not belong.

"The balm is only one step," I said. "It's a big one, Minerva, but I'm trying to convince Hermione to hear me about studying to be a Psi-healer. Her ability to coax magic to do what she needs it to do, there is a chance she could also rebuild those pathways. There are two in all of Britain, and I happen to know one of them since he was knee high to a Bowtruckle. I also know that he's eagerly chomping at the bit to have an apprentice."

Minerva looked at me slyly. "Poppy, are you trying to give Hermione MORE things to do?"

I tried my best to look innocent, even though a grin was creeping across my face. "If anyone can handle a little extra study, Minerva, is it Hermione Gr—"

I stopped.

"Hermione Snape," I corrected.

Minerva shook her head at me. "You are letting the genie out of the bottle, Poppy."

I felt the smile spread over my face. "Worth it."

* * *

 _Years Pass…_

* * *

 _ **-Hermione-**_

If someone had told me back when the only thing I thought I did well was magically castrate people that I would ever have found someone like me (and been mated to them) and become a Psi-healer, I would have laughed in their face and noshed on their magic pool just to test if they were completely off their plot.

'You aren't the only one,' Severus rumbled in my head, his mental voice sounding infinitely more purrable, as though it was echoing through a cavern. It made my tentacles purr quite literally, which would set off the hitchhiking Kneazle kitten of the day with a happy reply that vibrated against my neck. This of course, set off my tentacles in a bout of furious grooming of the furry passenger, which just encourage them to hitchhike against and again.

There were worst things…

Today's kitten was Saskia, and I was convinced she was going to be a healer when she grew up. She seemed to sense when my "work" switched to the healing element, and she would cling to me like a fuzzy, purring, obnoxiously adorable tumour, staying with me until all the healing stuff was done. Garrick seemed to find it entirely acceptable for his kitten to choose such a niche in life. He encouraged all of his kittens to "adopt" chosen people, dragons, gargoyles, or whatever came by and take life by the scruff and learn about it. Saskia was the healer.

Evelien was Auror's poster-kitten for interrogation. Moody took her into almost every interrogation and she had wizards and witches singing like birds to everything from stealing the bed sheets and using unforgivables on their neighbours. Stephanie, the tawny little queen of sweetness, bossed around the other kittens like it was her job, looking adorable as she did so, but was the picture of adorable snuggle-me-or-else— melting hearts wherever she went, but mostly staying in the wand shop with her father.

Thea hadn't left Draco's side since he earned back his magic, and so far, it hadn't left him again. Draco, true to his new perspective on magical deservedness, perhaps, made himself the father he'd never had by being there for his daughter Ruby.

She, in turn, had turned into quite a spitfire with almost no peers thanks to being born in a time of war when most if not no people with sanity were trying to have children. All hail teenage hormones. Oh, she may have been under the influence by that time-aging potion Dumbledore had given her, and yes it may have changed her name and protected her and her unborn daughter from being found out by Tom Riddle's cronies or the "man" himself by marrying magically to Draco, but the point of the matter was simple. She had few or no real peers her own age. There would a good chance the girl would be schooled in a class by herself unless she waited a year for the children born after the war caught up.

In all fairness, she wouldn't have survived childhood had she not been born a Malfoy, so there were worse things than being alive with no peers. Being dead was a definitely cramp in style.

Fred, George, and Bill had married and had kids on the way, and Harry kept me updated. Sometimes, Severus and I would travel with him under different faces. Severus could billow regardless of what he was wearing, and believe me watching him do so in tight pants with a cardigan made me want to strip that right off him and—

Okay, slow that train down right there, Hermione. What would your mother think.

 _She'd think it was about time for grandbabies._

 _Shut it, you._

I could feel Severus' amusement at my mental argument with myself, and remembering he was there. We'd held off on the having of children, not for lack of practice, but for finishing of my apprenticeship with Master Koerselman. Poppy's doing, really, but the apprenticeship had gone well. Severus and I were now a team, as we did our healing together. While we could do it singularly, together, we had learned how to heal magical pathways and restore strength, something only our combined talents could do. We had practiced on many many magical animals that had been injured during the war— the magical world was full of psychopaths as much if not more than the Muggle world. Magicals had a lesser population, so many it just stood out more.

Master Koerselman had been so ecstatic about having not one but two new apprentices, he practically core-dumped his entire life story and about fifty years of healing experience into our heads on the first night. It had our tentacles spinning with little moving bird halos into the next morning. The days after had been more laid back. He believed in learning by immersion. First, we learned the patients and how they presented, then we learned the why, and then and only then, did we learn the fixing.

Our master had learned that our magic seemed to work together in a way he'd never imagined, so while we studied from him, he studied us, and he became one of the few that knew the truth about us. Really, there was little you could hide from a healer, especially a master Psi-healer like Master Koerselman. It was bound to come out.

He took it well. He loved to pet our tentacles and give them jobs to do, and they loved that he did. Severus was jealous that our master got on with his tentacles better than he did. Master Koerselman gave the tentacles some healer's bling— and well, tentacles love bling. They were instant friends.

I kept trying to tell Severus to become one with the bling, but he just snorted and looked dour at the thought.

Master Koerselman gave Saskia her own little healer's hat too, and that made them friends for life. The little kit would stay with me during anything that involved healing, and that included study, so when I said I believed she would become a healer when she grew up, I meant it. She had a passion for it.

I squared my shoulders, taking in a deep, cleansing breath.

The patient in front of me would be our first attempt at healing a human mind of the ravages of both magical deprivation and physical damage caused by Cruciatus.

Correction, it was the first time without our master standing immediately by to assist, guide, and hover. That's what masters did when they were in charge of you— especially in healing. One step the wrong way and you could damage a mind more than it already was, and that not an option. This was our master's project, the end of our training, and beginning or the end of what would make us rise up as two of the only new Psi-healers in a long, long time.

Master Koerselman and Master Vogel were the only two in all of Europe, and the demands on their time had been significant. There were far more people in need than there were actual Psi-Healers. All one had to do was look at the hundreds of people in the Janus Thickey ward of St. Mungo's to realise it was a huge problem, and both Masters Koerselman and Vogel were only two people with a finite amount of time.

They needed us just as much as the world needed them. Part of me thought it was because of the sheer number of needy patients, but another part of me believed it was because they needed someone to be around to teach others when they were finally in need of a well-deserved rest.

Now, since Masters Koerselman and Vogel were the only two Psi-Healers around, that meant that Vogel was the only one that could judge us worthy to keep Koerselman "honest" not that he would ever, ever tell us we were ready if we were not. He'd apprentice us another fifteen years if he thought we needed it. He was simply that sort of a person. I couldn't blame either of them. Who wanted to release someone to heal others who was incompetent, especially when you were healing someone's brain and their magic?

This patient that we were working on had no other hope, and there was an equal amount of chance that even doing something would do nothing. They had been cruising down a deteriorating train of worsening symptoms for over two decades, and they were also on a list that would prove their condition fatal— where the lack of healthy magic to places in the body it "should be" caused what was called the "unmagicking cascade."

It wasn't, ironically, because they had no magic. It was because they _had_ magic but it wasn't getting to key places. It was all or nothing with a person or magical animal. Once the switch was flipped that allowed a being to use magic, the magic flowed within them. I imagined it a lot like the midichlorians of the Star Wars universe from Muggle sci-fi. You could have them and never be strong enough to use them, but once you were attuned to using them, there was really no going back from it. It wasn't a perfect match, but it was close enough that my brain made the leap. Merlin knew I and my father watched enough of it together on couch binges when I was barely up to his waist.

What it all boiled down to was, if magic left you, it left all of you, but if you once had and used magic and your body accustomed to that, having it in one part of your body but not every part of your body made for a constant strain, energy drain, and atrophy of of the body. The starving part of the body wanted what the other parts wanted, and the magic was behind a dam— hundreds if not thousands of dams. Just like having congestive heart failure and arterial blockage, bad things happened. It could take years to get as bad as this patient, but eventually— all those in places like Janus Thickey would die, and not from old age.

The two masters had been treating the worst of the worst wherever they went because of this, but it all boiled down to who needed them the worst versus the first come first serve method. And they all needed to eat and sleep because, as would a neurosurgeon, you didn't _ever_ psi-heal while sleep deprived or intoxicated or under the influence of a potion. They had to take care of themselves. They _HAD_ to.

Our patient, irony upon ironies, was none other than Mr Frank Longbottom. He, unlike his wife, had started to suffer more seriously from the cascade. The healers at St Mungo's feared that if _he_ died, they would lose Alice too— their torture together had formed a strange sort of symbiotic bond between them. Because of this we would have to treat him, no buts about it, but we would also have to treat Alice soon after, or Alice's body would try and sap the magic out of Frank through that bond. The beauty of passing this test on Frank, however, was that we could all work on Alice together and it would go faster— after we had a good night's sleep and were properly fed and alert.

No one was kidding anyone about how long it would take to recover from healing Frank, even in the healing trance.

"Mew," Saskia said, radiating readiness. She might not being doing the actual work, but she was getting a first rate education on how things were done. One day, this kitten was going to be first rate, once she grew into her paws.

Both of the masters upstairs knew Severus and my true faces, and the truth was, we did our best healing in our "true" bodies. Anything else was a lie. We could shift to appear like whatever we needed to after the job was done it was far better to rely on the Unspeakables' glamour to do the work for us rather than maintain the magic to appear like otherwise. Hermione and Severus Snape were very distinctive on the "missing persons" people list thanks to Albus Dumbledore. Now, Amelia had been working on a very complex reintroduction story for us, which would go in place once we passed our mastery, but it would never be as Hermione and Severus Snape. It would be a cover with a specific face, and our glamours would be changed to reflect it only because we would have to be available as healers to the Wizarding world. Most of our work would be through the Unspeakable network, working on people that had been injured in their duty to the cause and their job, but she knew that there would always be people outside of the Unspeakables who were in true need.

Everyone needed a boss like Amelia, but they couldn't have ours. She was ours! My tentacles hissed together in total agreement.

 _Oh, Neville_ , I thought as we stared down at the worn and gaunt face of Frank Longbottom. I could feel Severus' mental remorse, having seen and experienced the Lestranges' torture firsthand. Alice and Frank had been one of the first most publicised examples of what had gotten Bellatrix, Rodolphus, and Rabastan put in Azkaban.

I unfurled my wings, letting them hang more loosely around my shoulders as my whiskers extended outward to examine Frank's body, sliding over his body and thrumming as they checked him over. Severus, too, did the same, and the shared sensation made the mental picture inside our heads focus into one clearer picture. Psi-healers were a different sort of healer— they created a picture of the flow of magic in the body and the mind. Energy and magic— even a Muggle had energy about them. Magic was simply a different layer to the equation. It was energy that had the ability to transform into purpose-driven focus. Magic could "leave" the body, usually helped by a wand as a focus, and do a specific task. The magic would then return to the person, as energy is never truly destroyed. It took some time, however— which is why casting a lot of spells was so exhausting.

Here was the rub.

Cast a Dark spell, you retool that "neutral magic" into something Dark. Dark comes back Dark. So a person who cast a Dark magic, they weren't just changing the magic, they were changing themselves. Unlike me, whose body had been transformed to 'cleanse' magic, bringing it back to its natural, neutral state, most if not all humans and magical creatures _were_ the magic they were. Humans were different in that they could act independently of the magic, choosing to use magic to take them down various paths. Dark magic, however, was like dark patches in the lungs of heavy smokers. There was no getting it out.

Enter the Psi-healer. They could, which is why we, Severus and I, were perfect for this task.

We moved Frank down to the mattress on the floor, one to protect against falls, but two so we could sit down beside him and do our thing. It could take hours, and standing would take concentration away from what we needed. Severus took one side and I took the other. We linked our wings together, forming a sort of black cocoon around Frank. Our whiskers continued to move over Frank, meanwhile our tentacles knitted together to help form a energy framework.

Our master usually had to do this by himself, but if he was working with Master Vogel, they did the same thing we were— with a few less tentacles and whiskers, erm, and wings.

Saskia curled up on top of Frank's stomach, rising and falling with his breaths. She integrated into the magical weave, typical of felines, making herself practically invisible within the weave.

We closed our eyes to block out the sensation of light and visual stimulus and opened that inner eye that saw the weave of our patient.

It was a train wreck.

It was like a dragon had run amok in a small town and knocked everything over just trying to turn around— all over his magical pathways.

 _Merlin,_ I said.

 _This will be a while,_ Severus answered, the soft rumble of his voice calming me.

I swallowed hard, suddenly feeling the pressure of what we were doing, not just for our mastery but to save Neville's parents. This one was personal. While I didn't know Neville as a friend or even an ally thanks to what I had become, there had been a time when he'd been another student like me, when we'd known little about magic together. He would have been a peer. For that reason alone, it tied him to me. Severus, of course, had been his teacher, and again that was also a personal connection.

Emotionally, neither of us were compromised, so the process could go on. Psi-healers being as rare as they were, it probably wouldn't have mattered. Chances are, with only four of us in all of Europe, we really couldn't afford to step aside just because we knew someone unless it was someone within our most inner circle. That would be emotional compromise in an extreme.

Frank's pathways were like clogged arteries. I could see the blockages from the Cruciatus detritus all over. It wasn't physical, so a normal healer wouldn't see it. It was insidious. Severus and I decided together that tackling the larger nodes would be more wise since he was in such critical need.

All at once, I felt Saskia's soft paws ghost to a large nodule, pointing out the mother of all blockages. Such a good kitten.

We focused our energy there, and while Severus worked on whittling away the blockage and filtering strength into Frank's shutdown body, I forged a connection from one side of the blockage to where it should have gone.

It was like matching the ends of coloured yarn that had been cut, only the job was to fuse the ends together like it had never been cut, fibre by fibre, strand by strand, end to end. As soon all the pathways were mended on that particular node, I whispered again to the magic to coax it down the newly redone lines. I could feel its frustration and weariness.

"This way," I said to it.

"Open?" it replied. "Open!"

Unlike Death Eater Magic that desperately wanted to come to me, Frank's magic was happily neutral and at home, but it had been infected by the Dark magic of the cruciatus, so I drew it into myself, but not to devour it completely. I let me lake of purified magic consume it enough to purge the unnatural state of Darkness, and then I filtered it back out into Frank's magical pool.

The magic seemed to frolick back to him, energised and ready to go, happy to return home and no longer prevented from the natural flow of where it wanted to go. Unlike Death Eaters and Dark witches and wizards, the Darkened magic was not their own— theirs had been fighting against the corruption for, in Frank's case, three decades.

So, I took the Dark and chewed it up, and Frank's magic was free to go where it was supposed to.

One magical blockage down, hundreds to go. I felt Severus' whiskers rub against mine and we began again.

* * *

It took seventeen hours to restore Frank to rights, after which I don't remember much. Vaguely I remember Master Vogel patting us on the wings telling us we were finished. There was something about pinning, and then both masters ushered us to a private room to sleep it off.

I opened my eyes to see Saskia's golden spots in my face right next to my muzzle, nestled up against my one whisker. She was purring in the sleep, her little paws twitching in dreams.

"Murrrr," Severus rumbled, his talons slipping around my waist as his wings pulled me closer, melding my back to his front.

"Hello," I said dreamily.

"Congratulations Master Psi-Healer Snape," he purred. Technically our names would only be Snape amongst the Unspeakables and the Aurors of high rank and file, but to the public we would be Master Simon and Helena Bond. Really? Bond? Who came up with these names?

I could feel Severus' eyes rolling.

Oh well, at least it wasn't Smith.

At least our public names still had our first letters the same. Amelia said it would help us feel more like they were ours, but let's be truthful. Severus and Hermione are not easy names to sound like anything else.

"Good morning, Master Bond," I teased Severus, earning me a low growl and a kiss. I would have to tease him more often, thank you very much. Somehow between growl and kiss we had become our human selves, enjoying the "exotic" feel of a human body and the pleasures it allowed. In my head I compared it to people used to living in a nudist colony. You get use to that, wearing clothes became exotic. Being human was oddly exotic now that our natural forms had synchronised.

Still, even human, our tentacles wriggled and jingled pleasantly. Taking time to groom each other, rub scent all over each other, and generally make sure they all remembered each other. Sometimes, if we were hit by a nasty spell, we'd have a "new guy" that had to be inspected, prodded, hissed at and generally interrogated. I'd imagine it was like being put in a dark room with a spotlight as hundreds of hissing voices demanded to know your intentions.

Tentacles were not _barmhartig_ , that is to say, merciful.

Curious. Homicidal. Bling-loving, but not merciful.

Still, what would they do if that one tentacle didn't meet the expectations? Would they try to drive it off? If so, where would it go? Tentacles were highly social, so if they drove the poor thing off to wallow in solitude somewhere else, would I be stuck with a tentacle on my elbow, sulking and brooding and in need of antidepressants?

Severus was still trying to find a way to get Festive to join my clutch of tentacles and leave him alone, but Festive wasn't having any of it. The bling-loving tentacle loved where it was and bit him often to prove it.

Love is pain.

Besides, someone had to be festive, and Severus' dour expression was hardly going to accomplish that.

 _ **NNAGHHHHHAAAA!**_

Severus' mouth, and his human teeth, were attached to my neck, sending shocks of twitchy pleasure all the way down to my toes, making them curl.

I vaguely recalled a conversation about having spawn of our own once we were well and truly graduated right before someone found my breast with his mouth. My body spasmed as a cry tore from my throat, and Severus' answering rumble was heavy with desire.

Part of my mind was screaming that Saskia was still sleeping on my pillow, and Severus slammed his hand down over her as a black bubble of magic surrounded her, blocking her vision and her hearing. A soft whoosh of the seashore came from the bubble, locking the kitten in a dome of utter obliviousness.

His teeth clamped on me just so, and I cried out, arms flailing, but he caught them in his hands and pressed them down, and his skillful tongue reminded me that the only thing that mattered was him, him, and _HIM_.

Check, please?

I tried to wriggle free my hands so I could touch him, but he wasn't cooperating. Instead, he pinned me just enough to have access to all the places he wanted. He worked on my neck, moving down lower, making every nerve in my body sing out for the relief that only he could give.

Suddenly, I remembered something, and my tentacles shot out and locked with his, pulling him down on top of me in a rush.

"I want you," I hissed into his ear. "Right. _**Now."**_

I could feel his body radiating smug satisfaction in my response to his teasing. "Yes, ma'am," he rumbled as he gave me everything I wanted— with interest.

I wasn't complaining.

Gods, I hope he silenced the room…

* * *

"How is Defence Against the Dark Arts?" I asked as I sipped a rather stunning mint tea with berries.

"Not as crazy as Malfoy has it," Harry said with a laugh.

"I'm not sure I'd want either you or Draco teaching flying. You two are horrible examples," I muttered.

"Hey!" Harry protested. "I'm really good on a broom!"

"While you are, indeed, satisfactory on a broom, I fear you will teach the younger generation how to be a brazen Seeker instead of how to be safe on a broom," Severus said, lip curling slightly.

Harry slumped. "Give a bloke _some_ credit. I know not to teach kids like they are all going to be Seekers. Besides, Malfoy has a kid of his own, he's as paranoid as fuck about safety."

"Language, Harry," I said, raising a brow. "You're a teacher."

 _You're a healer and that doesn't stop you,_ my traitorous inner voice protested.

 _Shut it, you. Gosh._

"Headmaster Flitwick okay with Draco living at Hogwarts full time with Ruby?" I asked.

Harry nodded. "Yeah, after Ron flipped out on Ginny, the whole family thinks that she's safer with Draco here at Hogwarts than anywhere else. I mean, if he worked at the Ministry we'd have places, but—"

"I doubt Draco wants that sort of scrutiny. Too many curious eyes or condemning ones," Severus said.

"You're probably right," Harry agreed. "I'm happy not being the target of such wide-eyes and scorn. I'm happy being just Harry."

"Where _is_ Ronald anyway?" I felt I had to ask. He'd served a few years in Azkaban for attacking Draco while he was magicless, and then he'd attacked his sister for "getting knocked up by bloody Malfoy," and he'd just lost his gourd. Meanwhile, his marriage by pregnancy wife, Lavender, had their child, and he was released right around the time his new son would turn four. He'd supposedly been a lot more mellow and appreciative of what he had, but thanks to his time in Azkaban and his reputation of beating up magicless folk, it made him a really hard sell for employers. Being an Auror was right out. George and Fred didn't want him around their young customers, and he'd ended up waiting tables at the Leaky.

Hardly glamorous, but he'd learned to suck it up and treat people right because brassed-off clients didn't tip.

I'd honestly stopped paying attention at that point, so I had no idea what he was up to.

"Still at the Leaky Cauldron," Harry said. "He's making good money there now that he's learned how to be considerate. Lavender is working at the Crystal Seer practicing Divination, so between the two of them Reuben is being well cared for."

I rubbed my neck absently and melted as Severus' talented hands and his shadow dissolved my knots in ai matter of seconds. "I love you so much," I blurted, unable to help myself.

Harry looked embarrassed, but Severus smiled down at me, upside down as he peered over my head. He pressed a kiss to my forehead.

My shadow made itself useful and melted Harry, causing him to fly backwards and groan in pleasure as all the knots in his back released at once.

 _Heh, take that, Harry. That'll teach you to scoff at my shadow's extra talents._

"As much as teaching is a diversion, I'm only doing it until they find a replacement. I'm much more at home being an Auror," Harry confessed.

"Alastor will be happy he didn't waste all the training on you," I mused.

Harry winced. "He gave me an earful when I said I was going to teach for year, like I'd gone mental and started to plant bowling pins in my garden and expected cherry trees."

 _Odd analogy, Harry, but okay._ "I see," I said, sliding my eyes to the side.

 _He's mental,_ Severus mused in my head.

 _What does that make us, lover?_ I mused.

 _Batty,_ he replied, deadpan. His tail had sneakily corkscrewed around mind, using our robes for cover.

Truth was, Daddy-Moody knew that the best way to make him realise how important those skills he was trying to drill into Harry was needing them in battle and almost dying, losing a limb because you were dumb, or teaching them to the younger generation that was even more oblivious than you. The truth was, the younger generation did seriously stupid shite to each other for no better reason than they could and hadn't figured out why that was a bad idea yet. Part of it, the masters would say, was that their brains hadn't finished developing yet, something that technically wouldn't happen until after they graduated. This was why Unspeakables and Aurors weren't allowed to work solo until well into their thirties, if ever. There was something to be said about having someone there to watch your back, and contrary to popular belief, the more you cared about your partner, the less likely you were to do something that could get them killed. Now, whether you'd be able to keep your cool if someone actually managed to hard them, well, that was considered worth it at least in the Unspeakable business. Either the partner or the entire "family" of the Unspeakables would come knock on your head if you harmed their family— and we were _all_ family.

"Liking teaching?" I asked Harry.

"Not as much as being an Auror, to be honest," Harry said. "I think I'm onto Moody."

I arched a brow. "Oh?"

"Yeah, he's letting me get this out of my system so I'll appreciate being an Auror more."

 _Seems he is growing up_ , Severus chimed in my head. I tried not to snort my tea.

Severus had finally rid himself of the phantoms of James Potter when looking at Harry. It had helped to see his contribution to the end of the big V-man up close and personal. While Lily's spurning had truly broken him, and perhaps had been the biggest reason Severus had thrown himself into Dumbledore's "tampering" he and I both realised that had things not gone as they did— we wouldn't have been complete either.

Part of me wondered, had he been happy, truly happy, with Lily Evans, married her, had two point five kids and a dog or Kneazle, where my life would have ended. Where would I have gone?

Or would I be at the beck and call of the most insidious wizard I knew? His assassin. His power base. His creature—

"Sir," Harry said, looking at Severus. "Remus told me what happened between you and my mum. The fight— and how they broke your wand. I'm sorry."

"You did not step on my wand, Mr Potter," Severus said, still having issues calling him Harry. I didn't blame him, really. It was somewhat amazing he called me by my first name.

I refuse to call my mate Ms Granger! His mental huff came clearly into my head.

 _Know-it-all?_

Snort.

 _Swot?_

Growl.

 _Buck-toothed hand-waver?_

Severus was suddenly on top of me, snogging me senseless right in front of Harry. Harry was tugging at his collar trying to figure out if he was scared or something else.

Harry coughed awkwardly as Severus pulled away, his eyes locked with mine as his tongue slowly licked across his human teeth. "I called you so many horrible things. A liar. A coward. I didn't _know_. I thought my father— Sirius painted him so ideal. Remus apologised for not being honest with me from the start, but he said he didn't want to break what he knew Sirius had said and make me vulnerable. Remus said— no one likes to speak ill of the dead, and he, most of all, wanted to remember his friends well because memories were all he had left."

Severus let out a long sigh. "Mr Potter, you are not your father, and while you _do_ have your mother's eyes, you are most definitely not her either. You have surpassed them both in ways all parents hope their children can do, and I am heartily glad of it.

Festive popped out from Severus' collar, holding a pristine white lily with dew-laden petals. He nudged Severus until he took it then bit him, jingled, and dove back under the collar.

Severus handed the lily to Harry. "There was a time, I made this flower for your mother, begging her to forgive me some hastily said, emotionally-charged words I did not truly mean." He looked upward, his face twisted with conflicting emotions. "We were not perfect friends because no friends are. No relationship can be truly perfect, but for a time, your mother and I shared a childhood and the wonder that comes from discovering you were magical. Perhaps, you will take it now as a token forgiveness, full circle."

Harry's hand trembled as he took the flower, emotion welling up in his eyes as he held it. He stroked the satiny petals with nothing shy of complete reverence, and he looked—

Harry threw his arms around Severus in a tight hug, causing my eyebrows to fly off my face and Severus' mental flailing combined with an oh so awkward sense of closure.

Painfully slow, like old gears being busted into movement, Severus returned the hug, his hands slowly curving around Harry's back.

I was smiling, my tentacles hissing together happily at the unexpected event.

At last, my mate closed the door on a painful past.

I felt his tail wrap warmly around mine as Festive popped out and jingled merrily at me. I grinned as the bling-loving tentacle rubbed up against my cheek and flirted shamelessly. He had a beautiful orchid clutched in his teeth.

I took the flower and kissed Festive on the "nose", and the tentacle blushed and darted back under Severus' collar.

 _That is so not fair,_ Severus' mental voice whinged.

My whiskers plucked the flower from my hand and skillfully wove it into my hair. I gazed at him fondly before leaving him and Harry to have a long overdue "talk."

* * *

 **Xenophilius Lovegood, Daughter, Son-in-Law, and Grandchild Disappear After Selling Quibbler to Hunt for the Greater Purple Snorkack**

 _Seven years since giving away his daughter to his then-future son-in-law, Neville Longbottom, Xenophilius Lovegood and his happy family disappeared during a joined family vacation to Australia to hunt for the greater purple Snorkack._

 _Neville Longbottom, renowned Auror and partner to fellow Auror Harry Potter, had bid his coworkers farewell for a summer-long vacation after the three-year mission to stop the flow of illegal Dark artefacts into Knockturn Alley. Many of these had claimed over twenty lives of adults and children._

 _Xenophilius, who had sold off the Quibbler to none other than Augusta Longbottom, said he was looking forward to traveling the world, something he'd promised his late wife long ago and it was "about time he got around to it."_

 _Postcards and photographs graced the Auror's office for almost three months and then stopped shortly after Xenophilius said they were going to Tasmania for one last search._

 _They never returned._

 _Those reporting missing are:_

 _Xenophilius Lovegood_

 _Neville Longbottom_

 _Luna Longbottom (née Lovegood)_

 _Frank Longbottom_

 _Alice Longbottom_

 _Franklin Longbottom_

 _Franklin Longbottom was only six years old._

 _Ironically, after only a few years after their miraculous recovery from wounds from the first Wizarding War, Frank and Alice Longbottom were amongst those lost._

* * *

"No fair!" the golden-haired child whinged as his play companion snatched the ripe fruit from the top of the tree and dangled from the branch by his taloned feet, wrapping his wings around himself.

"Don't be a complainer, Franklin," the beastlet said with a sniff, plucking another fruit from the tree with his tail and dropping it down on top of the other child.

"I don't have wings!" Franklin protested.

Countless gargoyle pups in various stage of growth clung to the branches and munched on the fresh fruit, sharing it with the interloping and highly opportunistic phoenixes. "We _do!_ "

The phoenixes warbled in agreement.

A young dragonet used his head to hoist Franklin up into the tree, and the child let out a squeal of surprise before jumping onto a thick limb. "Thanks, Edan!"

The dragonet _sssss_ ed in agreement, head crest flaring in approval.

Another beastlet had a basket full of dragonfruit she had plucked off the overgrown cactus tree. "Here you go, Edan! Dragonfruit for a dragonet!"

Edan hissed happily, catching the basket with his tail.

"Wark!"

"Kweh!"

"Whooheewho!"

A flock of multi-coloured birds ran by, wings spread at they chased each other through the grove.

The children giggled together.

"I hope you aren't causing trouble," a voice said and Neville Longbottom strolled into the orchard.

"No, daddy," Franklin said, tossing his father a large Fuji apple.

Neville caught it and smiled. "Don't forget your great-grandmother."

"I won't," Franklin promised. "She's with mummy and grandma having a hen party."

Neville's eyebrow rose. "Oh?"

"Honestly," the honey-coloured beast-child said, "they are having a conference on when we're ready to start our apprenticeships."

Neville yipped as Edan stuffed his snout into his robes looking for sweets. " _ **GAH!**_ Edan! Where are your manners?"

The dragonet slumped, making a soft, sad sound.

"You're the one being rude," the black beast-child said. "You _always_ greet him with sweets!"

Neville, outwitted by children, could only sigh. He pulled out a brightly-wrapped ball of sweet rice mixed with coconut milk and mango. The dragonet squeaked with happiness, slurped Neville until he was dripping, and then bounced off with his prize, disappearing into the large cave above the orchard.

Neville shook his head.

The honey-furred beast tried to grab a stubbornly out of reach fig without having to fly. Her whiskers, much shorter than her parents, didn't quite reach, and her tail was firmly wrapped around the branch. Having not been hit with a dark spell, she had no tentacles to assist her, and she seemed quite put out.

"Uncle Neville, hit me with an Unforgivable!"

"What? _**NO!**_ " Neville explained. "Poppy, they are called Unforgivable for a reason!"

"Oh come on, Uncle Nev! You _know_ it won't hurt me! I'm tired of not having a tentacle of my very own! Mummy and daddy have dozens!"

Neville scratched his head furiously. "No! Your father would— he would— I do not want to be responsible for that!"

"Murder you," the black beastlet said, landing next to Neville with a thump as his wings folded around his shoulders.

Neville sighed. "Or worse."

"What's worse than being murdered?" All the children stared at him, gargoyle pups too.

"Being brought back from the brink of death to be tortured back to almost death. And then being chopped up for potions ingredients by your father," Neville surmised.

"Daddy wouldn't do that," the male beast said, face scrunching up.

"He'd make a special exception for me," Neville said with a visible shudder. "Shouldn't you be helping Amelia today, Alastair?"

"Not for another thirty seconds," the male beastlet said, tail looping as he plucked another fruit, gave half to a begging phoenix chick and ate the rest.

PWOOF!

Both beastlets Disapparated right out from the trees.

"Showoffs," Franklin pouted. "Daddy, are you going to show me how to Apparate?"

"Not until you're seventeen!" Neville said firmly.

His son slumped. "I can't fly; I can't Apparate—what _can_ I do?"

"You can go clean your room before your grandmother finds—"

Franklin ran out of the orchard at full tilt at the mere mention of his grandmother.

"Always keep your den clean!" the pups chimed together.

Luna appeared beside him with uncanny stealth, wrapping her arms around his waist. "You know," she purred into his ear. "Master Culpepper has offered to apprentice Franklin in Potions. He has a lot of talent."

Neville shuddered. "He's not even eleven, Lu—"

Luna poked his ear.

" _ **Ow!"**_

"You had a billywig trying to hamper your ability to accept things," Luna said calmly.

"Professor Snape will _**never**_ let me live it down that Franklin is better than me in Potions!"

Luna hummed a pleasant tune. "Severus is the one who spoke to Master Culpepper about it. He's the one that noticed."

" _ **What?!"**_

Luna stood on her tiptoes and snogged Neville mercilessly under the fruit trees.

An hour later, Neville found his pants and everything else missing as he tried to cover himself off with random leaves. "Okay, okay! I agree!" he blurted through the orchard.

The gathering of gargoyle pups spit out Neville's clothing in a pile in the middle of the Snapes' living room floor.

"What on earth is _that_?" Augusta asked, peering down at the pile.

Minerva's eyebrows lifted. "I recognise those trousers."

Poppy nudged Minerva, trying to hide a smile.

"What? I was Obliviated, not oblivious at Hogwarts, Poppy!"

Poppy looked skyward.

Severus and Hermione looked sideways in opposite directions.

Alastor put on his best gruff and irritated Auror-face.

Harry tried his best to become one with the couch.

"What am I missing here? Augusta demanded.

"Mew!" a brown and black tortoiseshell kitten and his blue and white tuxedo friend plopped into Augusta's lap and looked utterly adorable.

"Awwww!" Augusta cooed, loving on them, entirely derailed.

* * *

 _Years passed, blissfully uneventful (except for Dumblebeast, who laid a rotten egg and almost killed everyone in Azkaban)._

* * *

-Hermione-

"I never properly thanked you for—" Neville began.

"No need, Neville," I said. "I'm just sorry we couldn't have done it sooner."

Neville shook his head adamantly. "No, Hermione. I got my parents back in the end, in a time where V— V— V-man wasn't around to finish what he started. They are here, playing with my children, watching them grow up. This is good. More than good. I could have lost them forever, yeah? I understand a lot more now that I'm living down here with the rest of the Unspeakable family. What you went through— what you both went through. I can't say that I'm still not really intimidated by you both, but I really appreciate what you did."

I squeezed Neville's hand warmly and smiled. One of my tentacles popped out of my collar and offered Neville some sort of miniature potted plant.

"A Singing Dragon Orchid!"

" _ **I LOVE YOU!"**_ Neville practically squealed, taking the plant and giving the tentacle a kiss on the "head."

The tentacle hiss-purred and slithered back under my collar, obviously very pleased with itself. Where it had found that, I had _no_ idea. There are just some things you don't question. Where your tentacles get random things is one of those things.

Ever since my shadow had first given Augusta a backrub, Neville had been blissfully happier. She only visited once a week,having been sworn to absolute secrecy in order to do so, but between a little shadow-massage and having Frank and Alice back, family life had improved greatly for Neville, and having a job with the Unspeakables as one of their Herbologists was right up his alley. He took turns teaching the kids just as we all did, but his way with plants always seemed far more enthusiastic than his dedication to law enforcement.

I watched as Neville planted his new Singing Dragon Orchid in a special place in the garden just before a giant dragon-headed frog leapt out of the fountain with a symphonic roar of music.

" _ **AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"**_ Neville screamed like a little girl, tumbling backwards, arse over teakettle.

Severus' laughter rang out in my head. It never got old for him. Not once. Not _ever_.

Beastlets, gargoyle pups, kittens, children, phoenixes, and all babies in between piled up on Neville as he tried to catch his breath.

Severus shed the monster frog form for his more natural beast form, shaking the water from his wings and fur in what I considered the perfect shampoo commercial Severus.

 _Purr_.

My beastlets pounced me from behind.

"Mummy! Can we go visit Nana and Grandpa?"

Severus mrrrred, rubbing up against me, his tail looped around mine as he radiated pure mischief.

"I suppose so. I think everything is handled here." I stared at Neville trying to escape the kids unsuccessfully, not that he was really trying. We all knew he loved them all just as much as they loved him.

"Tails together," Severus rumbled.

The children wrapped their tails around ours tightly.

 _ **CRACK!**_

We reappeared in my parent's garden. The scent of steaks sizzling on the grill wafted towards us.

My parents' eyes widened with happiness as they saw us.

"There are my favourite grandchildren!" my mother squealed as our two beastlets pounced her, hugging her tightly with their wings.

"Beer, Severus?" my father asked, taking an icy cold beverage from the ice chest.

Severus caught the beer in one hand and nodded. "Good evening, Mr Granger."

"Come, come! Sit by the porch fire! Your father just _had_ to get one! He says it's just like magic!"

I felt the grin spread across my face as Severus' tail wrapped around mine, and I felt the hum of his love, silent but no less powerful.

One of my tentacles offered my mother a small crystal unicorn as Festive passed my father a goblin silver pocket watch just before biting Severus on the ear and disappearing.

My parents laughed together, giving us both a hug.

"I'm glad you could make it to Sunday family dinner," my father said. "Have you been taking care of our daughter?"

Severus wrapped me with one wing, pulling me close. "Always."

* * *

 _Fin._

* * *

 **A/N:** Hope you enjoyed the story, folks.


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